


Nisqually -- The Poldark Prairie Saga, Part II

by mmmuse



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.





	1. Barlow Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you who have followed the Poldark-Carne family and their friends in "The Prairie". I hope you enjoy part 2 as much as part 1! 
> 
> Rainpuddle13... this is STILL all your fault. *smooch*

“We must take Barlow Road, Richard,” Ross Poldark sighed, removing his hat to rub his forehead. “Attempting a river journey along the Columbia is far too costly–”

“–Too costly?” Richard MacGowan barked. “It’s not as if we haven’t taken those risks before and you know it!”

“Ross.” He felt the gentle touch of his wife Demelza’s hand as she squeezed his bicep. He knew his friend’s tone had nothing to do with him. The exasperation and worry strengthening Richard’s brogue to near unintelligible had all to do with his lovely wife, Helen, who stood -- petite yet swollen in her eighth month of pregnancy -- by his side. Despite her efforts to put a brave face forward, Ross knew she had been one of the people in their party most affected by their cross-country journey towards the Washington Territory. 

They’d arrived in The Dalles, Oregon Territory the day before, following twenty-nine days of some of the roughest terrain their party had come across during their journey. They’d passed the iconic Independence Rock shortly after they’d left Casper, Wyoming and had made their way towards the Rocky Mountain range. Massive and impassable in winter, the Rockies – in the height of summer – had been spectacular and dazzling. They’d travelled by and through places with such names as Devil’s Gate and Split Rock as they moved along the Sweetwater River, crossing the Continental Divide at South Pass. They’d encountered their first cougar one night while they camped a mile-and-a-half above sea level, altitudes that had given many of them terrible headaches. Spot, one of the Poldark’s cows, had fallen victim to the big cat, leaving Geoffrey Charles a weeping, wailing mess. Ross’s brother-in-law, Drake Carne, who had principal accountability for the family’s livestock, hadn’t been much better, but had managed to keep his tears out of the view of his sister.

Happy to be on the other side of the Divide, the party had made its way along the Sublette-Greenwood cutoff, saving seventy miles off of the old trail, to join up with the Big Sandy Creek. The name of the creek was telling: dry, acrid and dusty, it had all of the travellers sneezing and coughing. Helen, however, had been the most terribly affected with allergies they’d discovered earlier outside Casper.  Their arrival at the Green River had been a welcomed relief, with high grasses and ample water to refresh and renew. At its highest in July and August, the deep, wide and swift river had multiple ferries available to assist travellers across white water. It had been an experience none of them would easily forget.

They’d moved quickly along the rest of Wyoming and into Idaho, where the party had spend three relaxing days in Soda Springs. The travellers were able to wash laundry in hot water for the first time in months and their livestock could fatten up on the abundant grasses. One night, Ross had snuck Demelza out to a sheltered pool of hot spring water for an evening of frolicking the two of them figured to remember with great fondness for the rest of their lives. From Soda Springs they had travelled to Fort Hall to restock supplies, including mosquito netting as the infernal insects had begun to wreak havoc on everyone’s sleep.

West of Fort Hall, the party had moved along the south side of the Snake River, passing American Falls, Massacre Rocks, Register Rock, and Coldwater Hill. Travel was difficult along the river, some patches of the trail so rough it had caused the iron rims to fall off of the wagon wheels. They’d been fortunate to have a man with Richard’s skills in their party. He’d been able to make rudimentary repairs for most of the damaged wheels that would suffice until they could reach a place with a forge. Johan and Ingrid Andersen’s wagon was one of the casualties that had to be left on the side of the trail, after transferring their belongings across the remaining travellers bound for Vancouver. Despite the difficulties, many of the travellers had commented on the striking beauty of this land, surrounded by massive pine forests, as well as rivers and waterfalls of awe-inspiring power. The rapids at Cauldron Linn, Shoshone Falls, the double falls of Twin Falls, and Upper Salmon Falls had been particularly memorable.

The party had encountered scores of Indians fishing for the fall’s namesake, eager to trade with the travellers. It was here that many of the families, including the Poldark-Carnes, had tasted the fish for the first time. It was immediately declared a new favourite and a welcomed diversion from the salt pork they’d had to rely upon since their departure. Ross had remembered his good friend Dwight Enys’s comments about how plentiful the salmon were in Nisqually and had grown excited to catch his first on his own land. Helen had offered to share her knowledge of smoking the fish with Joshua Robinson, who’d drawn up plans for simple, but efficient smokehouses. Many of the families had eagerly paid to own a copy, earning Joshua his first coin as a freeman.

Three Island Crossing had presented the Poldark party another spine-chilling water crossing. They had arrived an hour before sundown, only to find the ferries closed for the evening. An argument had arisen when some of the travellers wanted to make a drive across the breaks in the river rather than wait for sunrise in order to avail themselves of the ferries. That was until they’d witnessed a wagon from of another party overturn in one of the hidden holes of which Graves had strenuously warned. The team of oxen became entangled in the melee, and the family perished. Ross and several other men assisted with the recovery and burial of the bodies.

Shaken and somber, the party members had placed their trust in their captain and Abraham Graves, their trailmaster, and had waited until the morning.

They’d continued their journey to Fort Boise before turning west into the Oregon territory. They’d crossed several more rivers, tributaries of the great Columbia to the north, until -- at long last -- they’d arrived at The Dalles, where they now camped, weary, bedraggled and long desiring to be finished.

“I realize we’d held out high hopes for securing river travel down the Columbia for our last stretch to Fort Vancouver,” Ross acknowledged. “At that time, Graves told us the chance of this would be very small. We’ve come to learn the conditions of the river are non-navigable, due to some storms that have swollen it to impassibility. The ferrymasters have increased their fees to near-extortionate rates, citing the danger to themselves and their equipment. We would have to abandon our vehicles and livestock, and make arrangements to have them herded over Mt. Hood.” He paused, leaning closer. “That’s what I mean when I say too costly, Richard; both financially and with the potential for lost lives. Now, I care nothing about the former, but the latter? After everything we’ve been through? It is unacceptable.”

Richard’s shoulders slumped. “I know what you’re saying is reasonable, Ross.” He drew Helen into his embrace. “How much longer is the journey overland?”

There was no easy way to say it. “A minimum of five days overland to Oregon City. Another day to the ferry crossing the Columbia over to Fort Vancouver. Still a tricky crossing, but not as life-threatening as it is from here.” He touched Helen’s shoulder, peering into her face. The dark circles under her pretty blue eyes were distressing to see and he wondered when she’d last seen their party’s physician. “What has Dwight had to say?” he inquired.

Richard hung his head before answering. “That we should stay here until the baby’s born, but Helen won’t hear of it.” Ross glanced at the little red-head and saw the set of her jaw.  _ I just bet she wouldn’t _ , he thought to himself. He had his own experience with a titian headed wife.

“Richard, we will do everything we can to make Helen as comfortable as possible,” Demelza coaxed, her small hand touching the Scot’s broad forearm. “We can make room for her to lie down in relative comfort in the back of our wagon, and I can be there to tend to her whenever she has need.” She’d accompanied Ross when he’d taken a look at the accommodations in the ferryboat and had described them the MacGowans in language more colorful than he’d had ever heard come from her mouth. She looked at Helen, her eyes filled with tears. “I fear you’d would never survive the journey, my dear, given what they have to offer.” 

“Richie?” Helen’s soft voice, wavered with emotion. “I will be alright on the road, with our friends.”

“Alright, that settles it,” Ross decided, gathering Demelza against his chest. “We are agreed, Richard? I can never bear to see Demelza cry. Combined with Helen, it will be certain to unman the pair of us.”

Richard uttered a suspicious-sounding laugh and nodded, drawing Helen tight against his side.

“Right.” Ross motioned to Graves, who’d been kind enough to give them space for the discussion. “Two hours prep before we set out for Barlow.”

Graves nodded. “Very good, Captain. I’ll let the others know.” 

As Graves left to meet with the other party members, Ross gave Richard’s shoulder a squeeze. “What do you need from me, my friend?”

Richard gave him a half-smile. “A miracle?” 

“Well, I’m fresh out of miracles, but I can help get Helen’s bed set up in the back of the wagon,” Ross offered. “I’ll have Drake bring your wagon around next to our two so we can begin shifting cargo.” In the end, the decision was made to set up the MacGowan wagon for Helen’s travel, moving almost all of the family’s cargo into the back of the Poldark’s wagon. Demelza would travel with Helen during the day. 

“Ross?” He turned at the sound of his wife’s voice. She looked particularly lovely that morning, in her pale yellow shirtwaist and sky-blue skirts. He’d noticed she’d found some daisies to tuck in her hair since he’d last seen her at breakfast. 

There were still times when he couldn’t believe his luck in finding her, all as the result of a newspaper advertisement. In a little over five months, she’d become the love of his life. She slipped her hand in his. “How are you, darling?”

He kissed the tip of her sunburnt nose. “Worried for Helen, sweetheart,” he said frankly, glad to confide in someone. “ _ Should _ they stay here until the baby’s born?”

Demelza shook her head. “There’s no doctor here in town,” she confirmed. “Dwight checked this morning. If she should go into labour, he will be able to deliver the child, especially with Flora at hand.” Flora Robinson was Joshua’s mother and had been nursemaid to Ray Penvenen until his passing just two days before.

God, he’d almost forgotten about that. “How is Caroline holding up?”

“As well as can be expected,” Demelza murmured. “Dwight gave her something to help her sleep.”

“Not the offer of his company, I hope,” Ross said wryly, earning himself a gentle pinch on the arm. “Only jesting, love. Now, will caring for GC while tending to Helen be too much?”

“No, it will be fine,” she assured him, both smiling as they heard the familiar giggle of their nephew.

“I’ll take him out with me for a few hours,” he offered. 

“Oh, he will love that, Ross,” she sighed, giving him a dazzling smile. “But the moment he becomes a problem you bring him to me.”

Ross chuckled. “Don’t you worry about that.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Thank you, Demelza.”

He left her next to the MacGowan wagon and walked towards his own, where Drake finished harnessing the oxen for the day. “Drake, where’s that nephew of yours?” Ross’s eyes widened when he discovered GC, grinning like a fool and sitting on the back of Bite the ox. He froze. The ox’s name was no mistake: he was vicious around almost everyone on the train with the exception of Drake and Demelza. “Have you both lost your mind?” he hissed from the corner of his mouth.

Drake shook his head and gathered the boy from the ox’s rump. “No, Ross, GC’s been able to be near Bite since...since that night.” Ross’s closed his eyes. “That night” was a reference to the night Grant Jefferson had attempted to kidnap Demelza and GC. The ox was instrumental in thwarting the crime from going any further by goring Jefferson to death. 

“Does your sister know anything about this?” Ross said through clenched teeth.

Drake’s freckly face paled. He handed the boy to Ross. “Absolutely not.”

“See that she doesn’t,” Ross warned. He turned his gaze to the curly haired lad held in his arms. “And unless  _ you _ wish to be banned from riding out with me every morning, you will keep quiet as well, GC. Understood?”

“Yessir!” he eagerly agreed. 

~*~*~*~*~

“Are you uncomfortable, Helen?” Demelza asked as the party resumed their travel following their midday meal break. 

Helen winced. “It can’t be helped. Anything I try to do is uncomfortable.” She shifted onto her side and heaved a sigh. In truth, she felt more miserable than she’d ever thought was possible, but she’d never admit to it. “I think I shall try to get a little sleep.” 

“You do that, my dear.” Demelza rose to her knees and adjusted the pillow behind Helen’s back. “I’ll just be up in the front with Richard. Call me if you need me.”

Helen watched her friend climb through the split of the canvas and let out the groan she’d been withholding for what felt like days. Her hands smoothed over the enormous mass of her stomach, only smiling whenever she felt her child shift and move within her. She’d been elated to discover she was expecting, having feared she was barren since the early weeks of her unexpected marriage to Richard. She loved him so very much, had done so for years before he’d surprised her with his proposal. As much as she loved him, she wondered if she would have accepted his offer if she’d had a glimpse of what she would go through to stand by his side. 

_ Of course I would have _ , she chided herself. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth and now felt she’d done just that. She had no one else to blame for it. They would still be in St. Joseph if she’d told Richard her news as soon as she’d realized it were true. Instead, she’d kept her pregnancy a secret until they were too far out on the trail to turn back. Her deception was the reason she was now supine on a bed in the back of a wagon, jostled and shaken until her teeth were loose. She was determined to continue their journey, to have her child on their land. In truth, it was something that was becoming harder to do with each passing hour.

Her physical discomfort and the fear she felt about what was to come kept her awake over the last several days. She was only eight months along, however she’d married a man who towered over her. The baby’s size – comparable to her own diminutive stature – was enough to cause Dwight concern. He had been so kind during his examination that morning. She’d told him of the pains she was having: sudden hardening of her belly. He told her it was to be expected at this point, but warned her if they ever became regular in timing it could be a sign of early labour. 

Helen pushed any trepidation she might have had in that moment. She had the responsibility keep her Richie calm. 

She squeezed her eyes shut as another pain tightened her belly.  _ Please, little one,  _ she thought to herself.  _ Not yet. Not just yet. _

 

“Oh, Demelza, thank you so much,”  Helen sighed as her friend nestled the warm earthenware bottle against her lower back.

“Of course,” her friend crooned, scooping up the plate of half-eaten stew. “Are you sure you’re finished with your supper, love?”

Helen nodded. “Yes, very sure.” She withheld the impulse to wrinkle her nose. “It was fine, but I can’t eat another bite.” She chuckled weakly. “There’s no room!” It had been different, a bit more oily than some of the other stews they’d had during their travels. She’d started to ask her friend what meat had been used, but decided against it. Even though she no longer suffered morning sickness, her stomach could be jumpy at the mere thought of strange, exotic foods. No doubt there would be some interesting things to be found along this accursed road.

Travel along the one-hundred-mile Barlow Road could have been described as “miserable” for everyone. Poor maintenance had rendered some parts to be almost bad enough to turn back. The men rallied to do what they could to patch and repair so they could push forward. The collective relief that had swept over the party when they reached the Willamette Valley was palpable. Mount Hood had been their companion along their trek across Barlow Road, but the sight of the majestic, snowcapped peak to the east of them was a welcomed sight as they set up camp by the Sandy River.

Helen closed her eyes at the touch of Demelza’s hand on her hair. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these last six days.” Her friend had been a lifesaver, helping whenever she was needed, with whatever was required. Helen’s cheeks had burned with embarrassment the first time she’d been forced to ask for her friend’s assistance to the chamber pot. By the time they’d reached the Sandy, any residual feelings of self-consciousness had been left far behind. “Would you mind helping me brush my hair to plait for sleep?”

“Not at all, Helen,” Demelza said cheerfully, rummaging around in Helen’s basket for the ivory handled brush she’d received as a wedding gift from her aunt before helping her sit on the edge of the bed.

“Are you up for a visit, Helen?” Glenn, her stepson, called from the back of the wagon. She smiled, her heart filled with love. His was the voice of a lad who was teetering on the edge of manhood. They’d celebrated his thirteenth birthday only two weeks before while they’d dined on salmon in Idaho. He’d been thrilled with the gift she’d given him: his very own MacGowan family kilt.

“Of course, Glenn!” She pinched her cheeks. “You can tell me all of the camp gossip and give Demelza a spell.” She watched with pride as Glenn assisted her friend down from the back of the wagon. “Now, I want you to go spend the evening with that lovely husband of yours. You’ve spent the last two nights in this contraption with me and I’m certain he’s missing you.”

Demelza laughed. “If it will help you rest easy, Helen, I shall do just that.” She looked up at Glenn. “Come get me the instant she needs me.”

“I will, Mrs Poldark,” he promised, waving her goodbye. Helen beamed as Glenn leapt up onto the wagon gate, the handsome smile that was the echo of his father’s growing sober as he looked down at her. “How are you today, Helen?”

She hadn’t missed the haunted looks the lad would give her whenever his dove grey eyes met hers. He’d lost his mother, Joan, in childbirth a little over two years ago, after all. They’d had a difficult time establishing the close and caring relationship they now shared. No, she must reassure him that she was perfectly fine and there was nothing to worry about.

“I am fine, son,” she said softly. It was something he’d begun to accept from her of late and she had to admit it gave her a thrill to be able to say it. She ran the brush through her thick hair. “Tired and a bit sore, but glad we’re off that road.”

“Can I do that for you?” he asked, his cheeks reddening. 

Helen blinked a few times to clear the sudden moisture that had sprung to her eyes.  _ Oh, she cried so easily these days. Enough of that.  _ “Thank you, Glenn.” 

They spent the next fifteen minutes chatting, Glenn sharing all of the news from the wagon train.  “I went hunting with Richard and Drake this afternoon, and bagged a couple of opossums for supper,” he bragged, the brush moving through her hair with confidence. 

Helen blinked, over his skill as well as the game hunting. “Is that what we had tonight? I thought it tasted different! And your new rifle? This was the first time you’ve used it, yes?”

He nodded, puffing up his chest. “Yes, ma’am!” He smiled. “Thanks for letting Da give it to me. I heard you had a few things to say about it.”

“Oh, well.” Her fingers pleated the smock she wore. She blushed. “I suppose I may be a little overprotective. Doesn’t seem that long ago that you were just a wee lad, not the young man that you truly are.” They were quiet for a moment. “Are the Thibodauxs ready to be home?”

He paused in his brushing. “Just about.” 

“Sweetheart,” Helen murmured. Lesley, Annabelle, and Gabrielle Thibodaux were a family from New Orleans who’d been on the train with them since St Joseph. They were parting company with the rest of the train, heading south towards Oregon City while the rest of them headed northwest to the Columbia River. Helen knew this bit of news might not be welcome for the lad. He’d developed a bit of a crush on Gabrielle, a pretty, black-haired girl nearly twelve years old. Helen and Richard had noticed the calves’ eyes the two had made at one another during Glenn’s birthday gathering. “You know, you can always write.” He jerked his shoulder in agreement, then set the brush down and parted Helen’s hair to begin her plait.

“Helen?” Glenn’s voice sounded tight. She touched his hand to stop his weaving. “When did you know that you loved my da?”

Helen bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “I think I was about your age, to be honest. But his heart belonged to your mam by then.” She laced her fingers with his. “She’s still very young, dear.” 

“I know,” he muttered.

_ A leanbh.  _ “We still have a long way to go before we’re settled. And a lot can happen between now an--” Helen stopped, her breath catching as a pain laced through her abdomen. She heard her stepson yelp as she squeezed his hand. “Oh no, no…”

“Helen?” Glenn extracted his hand and wiggled his fingers. “What’s wrong?” He knelt at her feet, his eyes huge as they settled on her abdomen.

“Go get your da and Demelza, son,” Helen said through gritted teeth. “Tell them to hurry.”

  
  
  



	2. Memories From the Trail: Soda Springs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They’d moved quickly along the rest of Wyoming and into Idaho, where the party had spend three relaxing days in Soda Springs. The travellers were able to wash laundry in hot water for the first time in months and their livestock could fatten up on the abundant grasses. One night, Ross had snuck Demelza out to a sheltered pool of hot spring water for an evening of frolicking the two of them figured to remember with great fondness for the rest of their lives....."
> 
> Except from _Nisqually -- The Poldark Prairie Saga, Part II, Chapter 1: Barlow Road_

“Where are we going, Ross?” Demelza whispered in his ear. She rode behind him on Seamus’s back, her arms looped around his waist. “Is it much farther?”

“No, it’s just around this bend,” he murmured, linking the fingers of his free hand with hers. “I know how much we’ve enjoyed our time at Soda Springs.”

She squeezed his waist. “Oh yes, Ross,” she said enthusiastically. “I took GC with me to do our last bit of laundry. He was more waterlogged than our sheets!”

Ross chuckled. “The boy has turned into a fish.” He slowed the horse to a walk. “Here we are, Demelza. Slip down, now.” He helped her dismount before swinging free of the saddle.

“It’s cold, Ross,” she said, her teeth chattering. Temperatures along this stretch of the trail alternated from scorching heat to near freezing, and tonight was no exception.

He untied the buffalo robe and placed it around her shoulders. “This will keep you warm until I get our fire started.” He kissed her softly. “We’re camping here for the night.”

“Here?” Her eyes widened before squinting in an effort to take in their surroundings. The moon was waning and provided little in the way of help.

“Trust me, dearest,” he said, removing Seamus’s saddle and settling it on the ground. He guided to the makeshift seat and helped her down. “Give me five minutes.”

“All right,” she said apprehensively.

He gathered pieces of kindling from his saddlebag and set to work and had a small flame established in short order. Light began to illuminate the campsite and he watched her from the corner of his eye. A small half smile creased the side of his cheek as she looked around their oasis in wonder. A cave with a pool of steaming water sat in front of her, nestled within a copse of pine trees. “I came upon this gem on our first day here, when I was looking for a spot for us to spend our last night.” He added a larger log onto the fire, turning when he felt her hands on his waist. “Surprised?”

“Oh yes, Ross,” she breathed. “Wonderfully surprised!” She stood on tiptoe, drawing his head down for her kiss.

There were many things about marrying Demelza that dazzled him anew every day. Whenever she pulled him down for her kiss, it was like the first time, standing in Mrs Sherman’s parlour, the scent of lilacs, vanilla, and her infusing his blood with love and desire. The small, breathy whimpers coming from her throat as he drew her tight against his body sent shivers down his spine, an answering rumble of need issuing deep within his chest.

“’Melza,” he murmured against her kiss-swollen lips. “Soon, I promise.”

She gave his bottom lip a nip as she stepped back from his embrace. “Can I help with anything?” she asked. The throaty tenor of her voice made him chuckle. “I promise I won’t distract you.”

He chuckled. “Hand me that piece of wood, you minx.” She laughed and picked up a gnarled piece of hickory and carried it to him. He leaned in to brush a kiss across her lips. “You are my greatest distraction,” he murmured, “and I don’t mind it a bit.” He gave her a pinch on her bottom when she tried to prove his claim. She squeaked and danced away from him. “Alright, missus, you can give me a hand with this.” He moved aside some nearby scrub brush, revealing the supplies for their small tent.

She smiled and picked up one end of the canvas. They worked in silence for awhile, having become expert at assembling the tent since their departure over four months ago. “You have been very busy, Mr Poldark,” she giggled as he drove in the last stake. “When did you manage to do all of this?”

“During my patrol last night.” He stood, wiping his brow and reached for her. “Are you ready for a swim?” At her nod, his fingers found the pins holding her hair in its braided bun, kissing her as he worked the woven mass free. Her hands busied themselves with the buttons on his waistcoat until they slipped under to touch his chest through the thin calico shirt. Her fingers found his nipples, pinching them before moving to his back to trace along his spine.

They undressed one another leisurely, letting the anticipation simmer through their veins. Eventually, after much sighing and laughter, they stood in their underclothes, their breath creating clouds in the chilly air surrounding them. “Come,” he rasped, catching her hand and leading her to the pool.

~*~*~*~*~

The fabric of Demelza’s shift swirled around her as Ross helped her down the rocks into the pool. She couldn’t contain the giggling laughter as the warm, effervescent water bubbled up against her skin. Her giggles turned to moans as he pulled her against him, his mouth claiming hers with a barely-restrained ferocity that never failed to quicken her pulse. They’d never made love in water before and the promise of it made her quim twitch and swell. Her nails raked through his hair, making him tremble and growl, his mouth leaving hers to slide along the underside of her jaw to her neck, nipping and suckling. His hands cupped her buttocks, squeezing as he circled his hips against her, his cock hard, nudging temptingly at her mound.

“Your shift,” he panted in her ear. The neckline sagged, her breast exposed for his touch. His hand kneaded her, thumb flicking against her rising nipple. Demelza’s hands scrambled to pull the waterlogged garment up her legs and waist. He stopped her when she made to pull it over her head, his hand finding the swollen bud of her clit.

“Ross.” She jerked against him, voice guttural as her eyes fixed on the near-black beauty of his own.

“My girl,” he murmured against her throat, licking her skin and stroking the slickness of her slit. “You want me, don’t you? So wet and slick for me.”

“Please,” she wept, her hips circling his caressing fingers, moaning as two slid deep within her, his thumb working her clit, complete with the knowledge of what she desired. “You make me mad, my love. Mad for you.” Her hand reached for him, found the thickness of his cock still trapped within his drawers. Oh, she’d seen him like this before, and she closed her eyes, imagining she could see it now, the head of his cock edging just outside the waistband. “You want me as well, yes, Ross?” She slipped her hand inside to grasp him, feel the strength of him thrusting against her hand.

“Yes, Christ,” he growled, shoving the garment off his hips and recapturing her buttocks, positioning himself between her thighs. Demelza groaned, relaxing into the weightlessness of the water as he rocked his hips against her, his cock rubbing along her slit. “You make me want to stroke you, taste you, fuck you, all at the same time.”

His words made her shudder violently. Her breathing became laboured as she clasped her legs around his waist, grinding against him. “Now...please now,” she sobbed again and again she until she cried out, his cock lancing upwards into her body. Her climax was blistering.  She trembled uncontrollably, her quim clenching around his cock as he rocked against her, phrases of love and desperate need streaming from her lips and answered in kind.

She reached for him, to hold him to her, to watch him as he fell. She loved to see him when he reached his release, masculine power dissolving into pliability. His eyes were half closed, teeth bared as she traced her palm along his stubbled cheek. Her quim fluttered around him, preparing for its second tumble into ecstasy and she wanted him to join her in its embrace. She circled her hips in counterpoint to his thrusts, gave him the words she knew would quicken him to the point of breaking. “Yours, my love,” she whispered. “Come for me, my love.”

“‘Melza,” he rasped, trembling in her arms. His movements became jerky, near graceless as he arched against her, fingers stilling her as his seed flooded her.

She flew into the black with him.  

*~*~*~*~*~

“One last bit there. Hold still.”

Ross tilted his head back and glanced up at his wife of four months. She slowly drew the blade of his straight-edge razor up the side of his neck to shave the week-old stubble from his face. Her brow was furrowed with concentration, and she was worrying her bottom lip in the way that made him ache every time she did so. And it did so now. It had become part of their rituals, one he’d come to look forward to since he’d convinced her to cut his hair, now too short to tie back into the queue she’d loved. He promised to let it grow again in winter.

She sat on the edge of the spring, clad in only her shift – all but transparent from their earlier frolic. He lay partially submerged in the water, cradled between her legs, the back of his head pressed against her mound as she’d worked. It was as they’d clung, trembling together after their loving, that she’d mentioned she’d wished he’d brought his shaving kit with him. They’d not had a chance for her to practice her new skills since that night in Casper, and while he’d shaved himself as often as was possible since then, he’d been sporting this week’s worth of scruff long enough. Of course, it wasn’t that she complained about his scruff. On the contrary, she’d often said the brush of the prickly, silken strands of his beard on her skin made her deliciously weak and near primal with need for him. This was especially true when he would sample the damp and swollen flesh of her womanhood.

“There.” The edge of the blade sang as it left the tip of his chin. She set the blade down and ran her hands over his cheeks and neck, purring against his ear. Truth be told, he was near purring himself, shivering at the touch of her fingers against the skin she’d revealed. “So smooth, like a baby’s bum.”

“A baby’s bum, is it?” he chuckled, turning to pull himself up from the water, rubbing his cheek against hers as she giggled before moving to her neck and shoulder, before nipping on the tender skin he loved to mark as his own.

“Perhaps not,” she sighed as his tongue soothed the love bite he’d left. “There’s still a slight rasp to it, even now.” He leaned back, swimming in the warmth of her gaze as much as the sizzling water lapping around his hips. “And I love it.”

He smiled. “Lay back, cinnamon girl,” he murmured. “I’ve a need to taste you.” He paused to suckle at her nipples, tight and peaked against the sheer cotton before lowering himself back into the pool. He lifted the hem of her shift to reveal the dark russet curls shielding her sex. “So beautiful,” he whispered, rubbing his cheek against the inside of her thigh.

“Ross…please,” she moaned, her legs quivering with anticipation.

He kissed her mound, his tongue easing between the fragrant, spicy folds to the slick, swollen bud at its apex and the sweet-salty nectar of her pleasure. Her buttocks trembled under his hands as he held her still to taste and feed upon her, his tongue playful and teasing with its caress. The slightly bitter taste from his earlier climax cut across his tongue, the combination of their emissions always an erotic enhancement to his own arousal. He nudged the sensitive bud with the tip of his nose before circling it with his tongue, his eyes fixed on her passion-drugged face, mouth open and gasping as she came.

He placed his hands on either side of her hips and drew himself up and out of the pool, into the cradle of her hips and drove his cock home before the last of her tremors shook her, taking her mouth with his, sharing her taste with her as his hips pumped against hers. Her nails raked his shoulders before flashing down to dig into the flesh of his buttocks. He groaned against her mouth, lifting his head to bury it in the curve of her neck.

“So good, darling,” she whispered, her legs slipping around his hips. Her heels hooked him along the sensitive flesh between the lower curve of his buttocks and upper thighs. He propped himself up on his forearms, his fingers buried in her hair, gazing at her face as she came again. “Love you so…” she wept, the walls of her sex pulsing tight around him

Nerves of pleasure and desperation fired along his inner thighs and up his spine as his testicles squeezed and he found his peak. “Demelza,” he rasped. His hips jerked, pressed tight against hers as he flooded her with his seed. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I'd let a side reference like THAT slip away from me... Part of this was written back in May 2016 and posted on Tumblr [ here](http://mmmuses.tumblr.com/post/144815338213/prairie-rosmelza-10). Anyhow I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> We will have other Moments From the Trail interspersing through this part of our saga...let me know if you can guess some of the other ones that I will cover in the comments!
> 
> Thanks again for all of your support!


	3. Sandy River, Oregon Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen MacGowan's time has come, and her family and friends await word of the birth.

Richard threw the tent flap open and stalked out into an unseasonably cold morning. It had rained off and on throughout the night. He’d spent most of it pacing beside the wagon, as Demelza and Flora hustled around, heating water or preparing linens. Glenn had finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. They’d implored him to try do the same, and he’d tried, finding it impossible to settle, to sleep. 

The only sign of the approaching dawn was the slight lightening of the gray clouds to the east. A drizzly mist filled the air, and if he were to close his eyes he would have sworn he was back home in the lowlands: fields of green, a couple of fat sheep in the heather, the laughter of his son, and the scent of the dark, fertile soil under his feet.

A woman cried out. His eyes snapped open and he jerked his head in the direction of the wagon, willing to make a bargain with Satan himself to be back in Scotland again with his wife and son. His wife, his most beloved Helen, who labored for her fourteenth hour, struggling to bring their child into the world, safe in a warm home and feather bed instead of in the back of a travel-worn wagon, cold and wet in the middle of the Pacific Northwest wilderness.

But there were no guarantees that a warm home and hearth was safe. He of all people should know better. Memories of the night Joan died flooded him: how pale she was against the fresh sheets that had been hastily brought in to cover the blood-soaked ones under her body; her dying breath against his cheek; the tiny, lifeless face of their daughter as she was swaddled and placed in her mother’s arms in the coffin.

He should have turned back. It was the first thought to ramble around in his head as soon as he’d learned the news that she carried his child. He shouldn’t have let Ross and Dwight convince him she was better off travelling across this God-forsaken country than staying put in St Joseph. The thoughts had grown louder and more strident as Helen’s discomfort grew. Now, it was as if the thoughts were ravens, pecking away at his flesh until he could bear it no longer. 

He’d have no one to blame but himself if she perished.

What was he thinking? He never should have married her, although the thought of never knowing the heights of love she’d brought into his life nearly drove him to his knees. But he’d been the cause of one woman’s death in childbed. What right did he have to place another into the same predicament? Because he’d loved and desired her? Couldn’t keep his goddamn hands off of her?

He covered his eyes and wept.

“Da? What’s wrong?”

The sound jerked Richard from his torment. “Nothing, son,” he choked, grabbing his kerchief to mop his face. He stuffed it in his pocket and faced Glenn. The boy was pale, his eyes reddened from crying. “There’s no news.”

The lad’s bottom lip quivered and he hurled himself into his father’s arms. Richard stroked Glenn’s back for countless minutes, silent tears streaming down his face as his son wept against his neck. “Shhh…shhh,  _ mo muirnín,” _ Richard murmured, his voice wavering. There was another cry from the wagon, hoarse with pain. He shoved the fear back down his throat. “Our Helen would be so upset to see us like this.” The lad hiccupped what sounded like a laugh. “Come now, we need to be brave, as brave as she is.”  _ Convince him. Convince him and yourself, MacGowan. _

“I know, Da,” Glenn rasped, pressing his forehead against Richard’s chest. 

He leaned back to look into his son’s eyes. “Why didn’t you come to me earlier, lad?”

“You have enough to worry about.” Glenn wiped at his face with his shirtsleeve.

“I will always worry after you, son,” Richard said, reaching into the boy’s back pocket to pull out his kerchief, stuffing it into Glenn’s hand. “Even when you’re grown, I’ll worry. It’s what fathers do.”

Glenn nodded, blowing his nose. “Da? I’m so scared,” he admitted, cuddling back into Richard’s arms. “The look in her eyes when she sent me to fetch you.”

“And you found me, my lad, just as she’d asked.” He stroked his son’s hair. “That’s what is important.”

“But I was so hard on her,” Glenn said, as if the words were torn from somewhere deep inside. “I was awful to her when the two of you first married. Accusing her of trying to take Mam’s place, when she was nothing but kind and loving to me.” His grey eyes filled with tears, eyes so like his mother’s. “What if we lose her too, just like we lost Mam?”

“Dinna think that way, son,” Richard implored the boy, hugging him tight. “She’s a fighter, as stubborn a woman as I’ve ever known.” He gave a chuckle that carried no lightness or humour. “She simply wouldna have it.”

Glenn nodded against Richard’s neck and they fell into silence. Until the cry of a newborn pierced the morning. They sprang apart, both slackjawed, frozen in time and space until they heard a second, lusty howl. They turned and ran towards the wagon.

They skidded to a stop as Dwight jumped down from the back, wiping his hands. “W-What news, man?” Richard stammered.

“A girl!” Dwight pocketed the cloth and wrapped Richard in a hug. “You’ve a daughter, my friend, just as beautiful and healthy as can be.” He drew back and gave Glenn a solid thump on the arm. “She’d close to eight pounds, which makes me think Helen was nearer to nine months along.”

“How is she?” Richard said, head spinning. “How is my Helen?”

Dwight’s face sobered. “She had a difficult time of it, Richard.”

“Will s-she live?” The question was almost torn from his gut.

Dwight blinked. “Yes, yes, of course she’ll live!” Richard’s knees gave way and he collapsed on a log near their campfire. Glenn sank onto his knees and sobbed against his father’s chest. “Dear God, I’m sorry, both of you.” The doctor crouched down to look into Richard’s eyes. “What I mean by a difficult time is…” He paused. “To spare you the details, while she was closer to full term than we originally thought, her body wasn’t as prepared for it as much as she would have if she’d been. As a result, she spent a great deal of her labor doing that preparation. She is a strong and determined woman, and I never feared for her life.” 

Richard couldn’t keep the sob of relief that came from his chest. He dropped his head and wept, his body shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. “Ellie,” he sighed raggedly.

“Demelza and Flora are tending to her now. I’d give them another half an hour before they are ready for you to see them,” Dwight reassured. “Congratulations, my friends.”

Richard smiled, the first real smile he’d had on his face for what felt like days, and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Dwight. God bless you.” Glenn flung his arms around the doctor and they all laughed, a glorious, freeing moment after so much despair. “A wee lassie! Glory be!” 

While the MacGowan men waited to meet their newest member, Richard heated some porridge and coffee for breakfast, suddenly famished. Not surprising as he hadn’t had a mind to eat since Helen’s labor began. Glenn was tucking into his second bowl when Richard started at the touch a soft hand at the center of his back. “Demelza!” He picked her up with a squeak and swung her around, planting a huge kiss on her mouth before setting her on her feet. “How is Helen? And our wee girl -- is she bonny?”

“They’re both beautiful, you mad thing!” Demelza pressed her hands against her reddening cheeks, giggling. “And they’re both ready to see you.” She kissed his cheek. “Congratulations, Richard.”

~*~*~*~*~

Demelza dug her fingers into her lower back, stretching luxuriantly after being confined to the back of the MacGowan’s wagon for hours. It had been a very long but exhilarating night, the end result worth much more than the exhaustion that was beginning to set in. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in the vicinity of a birth, but it had been the first time she’d actively assisted in one. Helen had been heroic, struggling through the majority of her labor with barely a complaint. This was not to say the mother-to-be hadn’t been vocal. The sheer number of colourful obscenities Demelza had heard coming from Helen’s lips had been extraordinary and, if her friend stuck by her guns, it would be a very long time before her husband came near her again!

The one thing Demelza hadn’t been prepared for was the amount of blood she would see. Demelza wasn’t the squeamish sort ordinarily, but there had been moments when Flora had ordered her to sit down with a gentle scolding. “You’re whiter than any sheet I’ve ever seen, gal.” In the end, there was a mild tear that would require several weeks to heal, and Dwight had assured her that the blood loss had not been outside of the realm of normal.

And the baby was perfect. Demelza had given the babe her first bath, dried her downy soft hair that looked to be an echo of her mother’s. The plump cheeks that had already begun to work, seeking and finding Helen’s breast to feed. The look of amazement that had sprung into her friend’s eyes in that first moment, stripping them of their exhaustion and strain, transforming mother and daughter into a thing of such beauty both Demelza and Flora had found it impossible to hide their tears.

She shivered; she’d come over from their wagon so quickly she’d forgotten her wrap so she made her way towards her home on wheels. It was amazing to think that the Poldark-Carnes were only weeks away from reaching their final destination. It had been a long journey, with good times and bad. But when she thought of her life a year ago, she could never have imagined she would be on the other side of the country, married to and deeply in love a man she’d met through such extraordinary circumstances as to be almost unbelievable... _ well _ , she sighed to herself as she flipped open the tent flap,  _ who am I to question fate _ ?

She ducked her head, squinting into the gloom of the tent, smiling when she heard the gentle snores coming from the other side of the blanket wall. She drew it back to reveal the silhouettes of her boys, arms and legs stuck outside of their blankets. She tiptoed around their bed, gently tucking their limbs back under the bedclothes, smiling over their sleepy murmurs. They were her boys, in every way but through birth, and she loved them both unconditionally. Would she love them any less once she had her own child? 

She touched a hand low over her abdomen. No, she didn’t think she would. Would she be able to be as brilliant, to suffer through her pains with as much grace as her dear friend? Yes, of course she would. The experience of seeing Helen throughout her pregnancy and now, after helping her through her labors, had brought the thought of a child with Ross to mind more times than she could count. 

They’d agreed they would wait until they reached their new home before trying for a child and had taken great pains to do so. It had been quite the sacrifice for both of them, very newly wedded when their adventure to the Pacific Northwest had begun. They’d had one moment of worry as they were traveling over the Rockies. She smiled with remembrance. Making love with Ross under the moon and stars in a hot springs had been worth the two days of uncertainty that had resulted from their time in Soda Springs. She’d cried when the familiar cramps had begun that night because she was ready, so ready to give him the news of his impending fatherhood, to feel her body swell with new life, a life created from such love.

She eased the blanket back and found her wrap, but not before casting an envious glance at the buffalo robes she shared with Ross.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Demelza jumped at the sound of his voice. “Ross!” 

~*~*~*~*~

“You were a mile away,” he whispered, kissing her gently. She was a rumpled mess, her hair in a long plait down her back, tendrils dancing at her temples and along her neck and the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“The boys are asleep,” she hissed, tugging on his hand to haul him out of the tent. 

“As well you should be,” he scolded tenderly. “How is Helen?”

“Oh, she’s wonderful,” Demelza beamed, her eyes swimming with tears. “She was absolutely marvelous, Ross. Have you had a chance to see Richard?”

He shook his head. “No, I was meeting with Graves to go over our plans for reaching Oregon City and Portland when word had filtered through the camp of the new arrival. It was only as I reached our wagon that I heard the baby’s cry.” He chuckled. “She’s got a pair of lungs on her, doesn’t she?”

“She does at that,” Demelza giggled before succumbing to an enormous yawn. “I came home to get my wrap when Richard and Glenn went in to meet her.”

“You should forget about your wrap and go get into your nightrail,” Ross said, arching a brow. “We won’t be going anywhere today, so it would please me greatly if you would try to get some sleep.”

She yawned again. "Perhaps I will get a little rest," Demelza murmured.

Ross frowned. "There's no 'perhaps' about it, missus." He softened his tone with a kiss, and enjoyed her snuggling into his arms. "Now into the tent you go and I don't want to see you out and about for the next four hours, at least."

"Yes, Captain," she said with a teasing pout that earned her another, longer kiss. "Will you join me?"

His body made an immediate argument towards agreeing, but his brain won the day. "Demelza."

"Our Helen has a baby girl," she said, squeezing his waist once more. She raised her tired, radiant eyes to meet his. "It's wondrous, isn't it?"

He had a sudden, vivid image of Demelza holding their newborn. "Yes, sweetheart," he nodded slowly, shaken to his core. He kissed her, as much to disguise the roil of emotions sweeping through him as to bask in her embrace once more. He rubbed the tip of her nose with his before placing a kiss on her forehead. "Sleep now." 

He watched the tent flap flutter closed for several moments before turning to meet with Dwight at the MacGowan wagon.  _ Jesus, their own child!  _ he thought to himself. He had to admit they'd been somewhat lax with the timing of their lovemaking of late. He tried to remember the last time she'd had her courses and found himself stymied. She could very well be with child right now! 

He was so deep in thought he didn't hear Dwight speaking until his friend touched his arm. Ross scrubbed his face with his hands. "Sorry, Dwight, what were you saying?"

"I said that I won't know for certain until later this afternoon, but we can't move Helen for at least two days. Perhaps longer." 

The physician's look of concern sent a chill through Ross. "Is there a problem?"

"As I said, I'll know more in a bit. The blood loss was within the realm of normal, but she's very weak. Weaker than I’d expect someone her age to be." Dwight's jaw tightened. "A prayer or two wouldn’t hurt."

"Of course," Ross said, his brooding about babies and courses forgotten. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffie. I know. I'm really, really horrible. You'll just have to trust me that I'm not Joss Whedon and don't do away with characters I deeply love. I'll stop torturing you after the next chapter.
> 
> It's Rainpuddle's fault. :-)


	4. Memories from the Trail: South Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"They’d travelled by and through places with such names as Devil’s Gate and Split Rock as they moved along the Sweetwater River, crossing the Continental Divide at South Pass. They’d encountered their first cougar one night while they camped a mile-and-a-half above sea level, altitudes that had given many of them terrible headaches. Spot, one of the Poldark’s cows, had fallen victim to the big cat, leaving Geoffrey Charles a weeping, wailing mess. Ross’s brother-in-law, Drake Carne, who had principal accountability for the family’s livestock, hadn’t been much better, but had managed to keep his tears out of the view of his sister."_ Chapter 1, Nisqually -- The Poldark Prairie Saga, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback from the journey west! Don't worry... we'll get back to the action very soon. There's quite a bit of action coming up, including animal death, so if this bothers you, please skip this chapter. Thanks!

“Captain Poldark!” Zeke Michaels shouted, raising his hand in greeting as the man in question approached.

“Mr Michaels,” Poldark smiled in greeting, “although I’d much prefer it were Ross and Zeke out here as it is when we’re in camp.”

“Well, now, I’ve no objections when we’re all relaxing at the fire with some of that fine bourbon of yours. But out here on the trail or patrol?” He shook his head. “Just being professional.”

Poldark glowered good naturedly before nudging his horse into a gentle walk. “Still too soon to know any news about Hanna?” The captain nodded at Zeke’s horse, a beautiful tri-coloured pinto mare. She was the first mare Dwight Enys’s stallion Tahoma had covered when she’d come into season just outside of Casper. Poldark had informed Zeke he’d hoped they’d been successful: he wanted a horse for his wife and children and had admired Hanna’s sweet disposition and beauty since the Ellingston party had joined them in Laramie. 

“Yes, I’d imagine we’ll know in a couple of weeks,” Zeke confirmed. “Are you certain you’ll be able to wrest the foal out of Dwight’s hands?”

Poldark laughed. “He’d better! He promised me Tahoma’s first foal during a game of poker back in St Joseph!”

Zeke chuckled. He’d been trailmaster for Ellingston. Originally from Georgia, Zeke was half-Cherokee, born of a white captive and the son of a band chief. His mother – from whom he’d inherited his striking blue eyes – had died along the Trail of Tears, where the majority of the Cherokee Nation was forced to leave their tribal lands to relocate in Indian Territory. He’d become a guide for travelers across the prairie when he was only eighteen years old, but soon became so trusted by Indians and whites alike that he was able to become a trailmaster. 

He was tall for a member of his people, a shade below six feet, with the long black hair. Zeke had been instrumental in guiding the Poldark party through some of the most difficult territory they’d passed through and was well-skilled at navigating through the treacherous Rocky Mountains. 

He and his wife, a quiet, beautiful young woman named Onacona, had decided to continue west after most of their family had died due to disease and unrest in the Indian Territory. They looked forward to settling in the Washington Territory town of Tenino.

They were traveling along the Sweetwater River on their approach to South Pass. “We’re coming in towards the area where I recommend we should make camp.”  Zeke pointed towards a sheltered, horseshoe-shaped area a mile in front of them. “There’s a spot towards the back well suited for containing the animals for the night.”

“Sounds good to me,” the captain agreed. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m just about done in.” He removed his hat, mopping his brow with his sleeve. “Hot enough out here, isn’t it?” 

Zeke laughed. “Trust me, it is cooler up here than it will be, once we get out of the Rockies. And be thankful it’s summertime, Captain. Snow starts falling up here as early as August. This pass will be closed by mid-September.” 

“Looking forward to being on my own land by then,” Poldark said. He frowned suddenly, and Zeke watched as the man rubbed a knuckle against his temple. 

“Headache?” Zeke asked knowingly. He unhitched his leather water sack at Poldark’s nod. “It’s the altitude. Can be crippling for folks not used to it. Dwight has seen to at least a half a dozen folks complaining about it. Drink more water.”

“Cheers.” The man drank deeply and grimaced, making Zeke snort. “Jesus, the water is getting worse and worse.” 

Zeke nodded. “The farther west we go the worse it will get. Should start to improve once we get over the Rockies and down into Idaho.” He peered at the dried up water sack on Poldark’s saddle. “What happened to your supply, Captain?”

“I wasn’t able to get a refill when we broke for dinner,” Poldark grumbled. “We’ve been brewing coffee and tea with it, drinking it that way, but my wife informed me we’ve come to our last two pounds of tea. The chances of resupplying out here are next to none and she said she’d be damned if she wasn’t able to serve herself a pot of tea in her own home.” Zeke laughed hard enough to scare the horses. The side of Poldark’s face quirked up in a smile, the same one that would appear whenever the man mentioned the red-headed lovely who was his bride. He took one more swig before handing it back to Zeke. “Thank you, Mr Michaels. Shall we?” 

The two men kicked their mounts to a canter to join their trailmaster.

 

Two hours later, Zeke hobbled Hanna and took one last turn around the animal shelter. He’d been right about the location. The craggy rocks of the mountains provided shelter on three sides, surrounded the animals. He picked up the oil lamp and walked around the entire enclosure. All of the livestock were hobbled to keep them from wandering too far afield. Access to grasses and water was easy and plentiful. He reached a section where a rock overhang provided minimal shelter and stopped, lowering the lamp for a closer look. 

Cougar scat. He muttered a curse under his breath. They’d been lucky, during their travels, in that their encounters with the large, predatory animals that stalked through the mountains had occurred either through signs like this or at a distance. Richard MacGowan had been forced to kill a coyote who had been attempting to harass one of the Poldarks’ cats just outside of Soda Springs. They’d also seen a black bear scuttling through the brush after Betsy Robinson had screamed blue murder while picking berries. Seeing this evidence of the big cat gave him serious pause about the watch schedule they’d set up. 

He gave Hanna an apprehensive pat, that trepidation growing at the approach of a yawning Lesley Thibodaux. “You on first watch, Lesley?” The Cajun nodded wearily. “We should try to find someone else to take your place, friend. You’re dead on your feet.”

“Non, mon ami,” Lesley yawned, blinking widely. He held up a tight water skin. “Annabelle made me a pot of coffee to drink and if tonight is anything like last night, the cold will keep me up and moving to stay warm.”

Zeke frowned, shaking his head. “No, I’m going to see if we can have someone else out here with you, as much for your safety as that of the animals,” he decided. “I noticed some scat near the back of the holding, so we need to keep an eye open for a cougar. An extra hand or two won’t hurt.” He removed his pocket watch to check the time. He hoped to make it back to camp before the men started drinking. He went back to Hanna, releasing her from her hobbles, swung up onto her bare back and nudged her into a very fast trot. 

~*~*~*~*~

“Please, Demelza?” Drake implored his sister. 

“Absolutely not.” Demelza threw down her apron. “You will not spend the night out in the freezing cold,  _ especially _ not when there is a cougar prowling around!” Drake uttered a word he immediately wished he could swallow back down his throat. The look his sister gave him was murderous. “If I hear you say that again, I swear I will wash out your mouth with soap.

“Ross, please.” Drake turned his eyes towards his brother-in-law, who sat near the tent flap, removing his boots. “Will you tell her how important this is?” 

“Oh, don’t you dare, Ross,” Demelza hissed when Ross’s eyes shifted in her direction. 

“Demelza.” Her name was spoken in a tone Drake knew to be one of patience tested to almost the breaking point. His brother-in-law had been troubled with a headache, as they all had done, for the last couple of days. Unlike them, however, Ross hadn’t had an evening free for the last week. Drake might pray for exhaustion to distract his brother-in-law and sister from their reunion, but he knew better. He grimaced. 

Lord.  _ Did  _ he know better. 

“It’s not as if I’ll be alone!” Drake blurted, forcing his brain stop speculating on the evening’s activities for the newlyweds. “There are three other men who will be on watch.” 

“Demelza, he’s right,” Ross declared, with finality. He stood and stretched his back. “We need as many hands as we can spare, and it is his responsibility to see to the welfare of the family’s livestock.” He walked to where Drake and Demelza stood, toe to toe and laid his broad hand on her shoulder.  “We agreed on this before we left St Joseph.”

“I didn’t realize you meant he’d have to defend their lives from the likes of a  _ cougar _ ,” she all but wailed. “He’s just a boy!”

“No, I’m not!” Drake protested indignantly. “I turned thirteen two weeks ago! And I’ve been doing a man’s job, all the while we’ve been out here.”

Her eyes filled with tears. Drake suppressed a groan. Ross would crumple like a house of cards if she cried. “Feeding and tending to cows and oxen?” she snorted derisively, dashing tears from her cheeks. “A man’s job?” 

“Yes,” Ross barked. Drake was surprised to see the anger in his brother-in-law’s eyes. He turned to Drake. “Go. You know where the rifle is.” 

His sister gasped. “Ross Vennor Poldar—”

“—Keep warm and stay safe, Drake.” Ross squeezed Drake’s upper arm. 

Drake opened his mouth to protest but stopped short at Ross’s look. The fire had been banked, but not extinguished in the least. “I promise, I will.” He brushed a kiss on his sister’s cheek, grabbed his jacket and lit out to the wagon for the gun, doing his best to ignore the raised voices behind him.

 

There were four of them on patrol that night. Lesley had been sent back to rest, replaced by Johan Andersen. Drake had known Andersen since they’d left St Joseph and had developed a comfortable camaraderie while Johan recovered from the blow to the head he sustained during Demelza and GC’s attempted kidnapping by Jefferson. Anthony Wainwright and Peter Stevenson rounded out the quartet. Drake hadn’t spent much time around Wainwright, but he appeared to be friendly and enthusiastic, if not a little green. 

Each of the men took a quadrant of the enclosure to patrol, with plans to rotate every two hours. Drake started out the night in the section with the fire, but four hours later, as he patrolled the quadrant nearest the rock overhang, he was shivering, hungry, tired and needed to take a piss. There was no place he’d rather be. 

Drake found the entire experience liberating. He’d gained the respect of all of the travelers in their party with his expertise and was happy to be given this chance to prove himself. Seven months ago, running through the streets of Manhattan, he never would have thought of himself as an expert with livestock. His emigration west across this stunning country had offered countless opportunities to rise to the challenges set before him. 

He thought of the reason for it: his sister’s marriage to Ross. Drake frowned, remembering how he’d left the two of them, nose to nose in what sounded like an honest-to-God fight. They’d argued a time or two whilst being on their journey.  Who hadn’t done after weeks and weeks of the same food, extremes in weather that would have tried the patience of a saint, all cooped up in a twelve by fourteen tent. But never anything like this. He was glad his brother-in-law recognized his growth into a young man, capable of doing his fair share with the other men on the trail. But at what cost?

He raised his lamp to check on the horses once more. Ross’s horse Seamus had a tendency to buddy up with Dwight’s stallion, Tahoma, however they’d been keeping him away from the rest of the animals while Hanna was in season. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Since he’d been responsible for managing the family’s livestock, Drake had insisted on being allowed to help Ross, Zeke and Dwight when they bred Tahoma and Hanna. At first, their hesitation and nervous mumbling had confused him. He’d been around animals all his life and had seen dogs and cats humping countless times. Why would it be different this time around? 

Well, the joke had been on him, alright. Richard and Glenn had guffawed loud enough to disturb the horses, if they hadn’t been otherwise occupied. “The phrase ‘hung like a horse’  _ had _ to come from somewhere, laddie!” Richard had crowed, pounding Drake on the back. “From the Bible, Ezekiel 23:20! Look it up if you don’t believe me!”

Drake looked at sweet Hanna, who blinked innocently at him with her big brown eyes. “Innocence and sweetness, my left foot,” he muttered, rubbing the velvety softness of her nose. “You didn’t appear to disagree with anything that happened that day, did you?” She bumped her nose against his hand, wickering and lipping at his fingers. He chuckled, turning away from the horses to check on the oxen. 

It was at that moment he noticed an increase of nervousness with the animals. They shifted, disquieted by something. He rose on tiptoe to peer over and around the beasts as they jostled together. The darkness was all pervasive, the heavy cloud cover making it difficult for a person to see a foot in front of their own nose. The trunks of the nearby trees creaked and groaned in protest of the wind that blew in gusts around them. Drake remembered some of the stories Zeke and Abraham told around the campfire, of the big game animals that prowled through the hills and mountains. 

What had they said again? Oh yes, that cougars smelled of cat piss, if you were to get close enough to one. And if you were, there was a good chance it would be the last thing you ever did. He’d had plenty of experience with the stuff since they’d left Laramie, being forced to attend to their cats’ sandbox every day.  Drake took an uneasy sniff as he made his way around towards the back of his quadrant. His stomach clenched, incapable of shaking the sense of foreboding in the air, and checked to make sure his rifle was ready.

Suddenly, the unholy scream of a cougar ripped through the air, ricocheting around the rock bowl of the enclosure. Drake had heard the sound in the distance only one other time in his life and had thought it was a woman. He’d gaped when Zeke corrected his assumption, awestruck by the power of it. It was nothing compared to experiencing it within yards of where he stood. It had raised all of the fine hairs along his arms and turned his knees watery. 

It was hard to tell what the direction the noise had come from, the way it had echoed across the sides of rock. Seconds later, the panicked cacophony of oxen and cows exploded from the quadrant next to his. Adrenaline surged through his veins and he broke into a run. He met Johan and Peter as they sprinted to reach their fourth, Anthony. 

One of the oxen shifted to reveal the cougar, its teeth sunk into the neck of a cow, lowing pitiably as it was dragged to the ground. It was Miss Spot, one of Drake’s animals. 

Rage flooded him. “Shoot it!” he bellowed at Anthony. The man stood, frozen to the spot, the rifle trembling in his hands. “ _ Shoot _ ,  _ goddammit! _ ” The cougar released the cow’s neck, its great head turning in the direction of Drake’s shout. It screamed again, teeth bloodied, crouching to spring. 

A demon made real. He raised the rifle and shot.

~*~*~*~*~

Ross sat bolt upright in bed at the sound of the sharp crack of a rifle in the distance and was reaching for his buckskins when Demelza’s hand touched his arm. “What is it?” she whispered, her voice quavering with fright. 

They were the first words she’d spoken to him since their argument yet he didn’t have time to be glad of it. “Gunshot,” he murmured as he heard whimpering sounds coming from the other side of the blanket wall. Demelza was already out of bed to see to GC by the time Ross donned his trousers. “From the shelter.”

“Drake!” Demelza cried, eyes widening with terror. He hadn’t wanted to speculate, but knew she deserved to know the possibilities. “I knew he shouldn’t have gone!”

“Demelza,” he snapped, ramming his right foot into his boot and sighed. “We don’t have time for this right now. I must go find out what happened.” He walked over to where she stood, her eyes filled with hurt and fear. “Stay here and take care of GC.” The boy clung to her leg. Ross gently brushed the back of his hand against his nephew’s wet cheek. “I’ll see to Drake.” He kissed her, hard and fast on the mouth. “Try not to worry, love.”

Ross sprinted towards the animal shelter, slowing only momentarily at the sound of Dwight’s voice calling his name. “Dwight! Let’s hope your services are not needed!” he shouted, the cold night air stinging his lungs.

“Zeke and Richard are just behind me,” Dwight panted. Ross glanced over his shoulder as the other men loped up to join them. “Is it what I think it is?”

“I certainly hope not.” Ross looked up the rise towards the shelter.  _ Please, God, let him be safe.  _

They reached the enclosure within ten minutes, all in varying states of undress. “I can’t see a goddamn thing! We’ve a full moon tonight, not that it can be of any help now,” Ross snarled, glowering at the heavy cloud cover that threatened rain at any moment. “Torches?”

Zeke shook his head. “Would make the animals uneasy having so many so close. I’ve two oil lamps here, so that’ll have to do.” He lit them from the dregs of the fire, and held them high in a feeble attempt to illuminate the area.

“We will have to pair up,” Ross stated. “Dwight, you’re with me. We’ll take the near side. Zeke, you and Richard take the far.” The party split up with he and Dwight doing their best to move past the skittish livestock without being trampled. Ross’s eye caught the white blaze on Seamus’s muzzle out of the corner of his eye and was grateful to know the horse was sound.  The wind shifted, bringing with it the pungent smell of blood and cat urine.  _ Oh God,  _ he thought to himself _. _ If anything had happened to Drake he’d never, ever forgive himself and he knew for certain his wife wouldn’t either.

“Captain Poldark! Over here!” 

Johans’s lilting voice came from Ross’s left. They veered from their path, shoving mules and oxen aside with muttered curses for what felt like an age. He finally shouldered his way past the stubborn hindquarters of the Stevenson’s massive ox, inexplicably named Tiny, to find his brother-in-law kneeling on the ground next to the still, supine bulk of one of the cows, his trousers and hands covered with blood. “Jesus,” he rasped, suffering the worst of fears at first glance. “Drake, are you hurt?”

“I had to put her down, Ross.” The lad raised his head, his sea-green eyes thick with tears. He held up the Bowie knife Ross had given Drake for his birthday, covered with blood. 

Relief swam through Ross in an instant until he noticed the lad had begun to tremble. “Oh, dammit.” He knelt, gathering his brother-in-law in his arms just as the dam burst. “I’m so sorry, Drake.” 

They rocked back and forth, Ross all the while whispering nonsense words and soothing sounds into Drake’s ear.  It was several minutes before either before the young man’s weeping reached a point where Ross felt he could spare any attention towards getting some answers. He looked at Johan over Drake’s head. “What the hell happened up here?”

“It was your cow, Ross,” Johan explained. “Miss Spot, his favorite. A cougar got a hold of her.” Ross swiveled his head around to squint into the gloom. Sure enough, the black and white body of their Holstein milk cow, Miss Spot, lay all-too-quiet in the grass. “Drake shot the cat when it turned its attention to him.” Ross glanced to see the body of the massive cougar a few feet to the right of where they knelt. “The cow survived the attack, but was mortally wounded. He calmly knelt next to the beast and put her out of her misery.” He paused, patting Drake on the shoulder. “The boy was something to see, Ross. Nerves as calm as they could be when that thing jumped at him. Wainwrig--”

“--It’s my fault,” Wainwright admitted.

Ross eyed the man. He was as white as a sheet and shaking almost as much as the lad. “What do you mean it was your fault?” he asked, coolly. Anyone who knew him well would have been warned off by the tone of his voice. He handed Drake his kerchief and stood, drawing the young man up beside him. “How was any of this your fault, Wainwright?”

“I-I froze, sir,” he confessed. “I was on patrol in this quadrant when the cat struck. And I c-couldn’t pull the trigger.”

Ross counted to ten. “Have you ever shot that rifle, Wainwright?”

“N-N-No, sir,” he stammered. 

“Then why in bloody hell were you out here on patrol, man?” Ross roared. 

“Ross,” Dwight interjected, stepping close. “Try to stay cal--”

“Keep  _ out _ of this, Dwight,” he snapped before turning back to face Wainwright. “Oh yes, that’s right,” he mocked. “Lawyer from Washington D.C.” He lunged for the man’s collar. “Your hesitation almost got my son killed!” The last word echoed like thundered off the walls of the enclosure, startling the animals afresh.

“Ross, don’t be mad at him,” Drake rasped, his nose stuffy from crying. “It was my cow that...thing attacked. If anyone should have killed it, it should have been me.” Ross blinked the red haze from his vision fast enough to see the lad offering his hand to Wainwright. “You did your best, Anthony.” 

Ross hauled Drake into his arms again, squeezing him tight. “You make me very proud, Drake,” he whispered. “Very proud.” He released the young man, clearing his throat before offering his own hand to Wainwright. “My apologies, Anthony.”

“No, sir, I’m the sorry one,” Wainright said miserably.

“We’ll have our hands full taking care of this mess before dawn breaks,” Ross estimated cautiously. “You  _ can  _ use a shovel, I hope.” The man smiled wanly.

They gathered the necessary tools from camp and prepared to spend the next several hours at work. They butchered the cow, taking only what meat they could safely carry before it spoiled, burying the rest of the carcass in the large pit they dug. It was hard, gruesome work. Zeke made short work of the cougar skin, which he said would fetch a good price in trade. Ross convinced Drake to keep it, a memento of a turning point in his life.

The bloodied, bedraggled men from the Poldark party meandered their way back to camp as the sun began to dawn, pausing by the river to wash up. No sense in frightening everyone to death. They peeled off into the direction of their respective wagons and tents, shoulder pats of camaraderie by way of good nights. 

“Ross?” Drake murmured. “You called me your son back there.”

He stopped, nodding. “That I did.” He looked at the young man beside him. “Been thinking of you as such for a while now. Since Casper.” A beat of silence marked the significance of the statement. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

Drake beamed. “Not at all, Ross.” He raised his brows in a gesture so much like his sister’s it made him grin. “I don’t know if I can call you Papa or anything like that.”

Ross laughed. “There’s no need for that, now. ‘Ross’ will do just fine.” They continued their walk towards the blue wagon. Demelza stood by the tent in her nightrail and wrap. She clapped her hands and began to run towards them. Drake slowed to a stop. “What’s wrong, son? If it’s Demelza--”

“No, it’s not her, although I’m not looking forward to hearing what she has to say about any of this.” 

Ross looked down at his clothing before returning his gaze to his wife. She’d frozen on the spot, the expression on her face having changed from joy to near horror at the state of their appearance. “She will have both of our heads.” He placed a hand on the young man’s arm. “If not that, then what?”

Drake nodded his head towards the little blond boy standing by his sister’s side. “It’s GC. Oh, he’s going to be inconsolable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I simply cannot thank Rainpuddle13 for her invaluable counsel for this chapter. She is the one who constantly reminds me to consider the mood and suspense for chapters like these, because I tend to just want to get through it. There was a section of notes she gave me that I -- quite literally -- copied, pasted and tweaked only a little in order to raise the color and dimension of the scene just prior to the cougar's appearance. She's just phenomenal. Love you!
> 
> While the hunting of wild game, for many these days, is problematic, these situations were a matter of course for the men and women emigrating across the western United States in those days, as a matter of protection or sustenance. I'll not shy away from depicting these types of things as we get closer and closer to their final destination.


	5. Vancouver, Washington Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Poldark wagon train makes its final river crossing to arrive in Vancouver, Washington Territory. Two more weeks of travel lay before them, except for the MacGowans, who have a serious decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you concerned about Helen and the baby.....

“MacGowan, Poldark, Enys over to the left!” the ferry captain hollered. Dwight slapped the reins down onto the backs of his team of oxen. They lowed nervously as the bright blue wagon in front of them began its forward motion off of the ferry and onto the dock in Vancouver, Washington Territory. Five and a half months of travel were behind them and they were within days of their final destination: Bush Prairie.  

The ground was boggy with mud as he disembarked and he prayed the wheels wouldn’t get mired. Suddenly, he saw Drake Carne jogging up to him, his face damp with sweat. “We’ve laid wood shavings down to the right of you for the heavier wagons, Dwight. Lead over a bit more…a bit more....” He followed the young man’s instructions. Sure enough, the strain on the wheels diminished. “Excellent!” Drake shouted, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Now, ease the reins, I’ll walk them up.” He took a hold of Jud, the lead ox on the team and hauled on the traces.

Dwight slackened his hold on the reins and sat back. It was his first chance to take in some of the changes that had occurred during his absence from the region. Several more buildings had sprouted up near the waterfront. The road heading up and away towards the north had broadened, become clearer. He closed his eyes, savoring the overpowering scent of fresh cut wood as the blades of the sawmill shrieked its production. The top of the fort’s watchtower was barely visible from their location, but boasted an unimpeded view of the river and its environs.

They’d been fortunate to have excellent weather for their crossing when they arrived on the river’s edge outside of Portland the night before. The Columbia River was one of the largest and fastest moving rivers on the North American continent. In good weather, the crossing was difficult, even for the most seasoned ferry captains. The only water journey more treacherous was for those souls arriving by way of the Pacific Ocean to the mouth of the river. Known as The Bar, a massive sandbar formed by the collision between the rushing river flow from the west and the turbulent waters of the Pacific, it was a place of dramatic waves, winds and currents that could change at a moment’s notice. Thirty ships and dozens of lives had been lost on The Bar since 1792 and was only part of the area identified along the coast of the Washington and Oregon as The Graveyard of the Pacific.

“Come about to line up along this fence rail, Dwight!” Drake called, backing up to stand at gate leading towards the field where they would be for the next day and a half. Dwight slapped the traces along the backs of his team and eased them forward. The oxen lowed their contentment to be moving at normal speed once again. He slapped the reins down and gave them their heads, smiling in spite of himself. He could see local people setting up their wares and trade goods along the fort’s tall, straight fence line a half a mile to the east of the docks and knew they would find eager customers amongst the remaining members of the Poldark wagon train.

Many of their party were calling the land bracketing the Columbia home. They had already bid farewell to the Stevensons and the Thibodauxs in Oregon and would see the Andersens and Ellingstons leave them to settle here in Vancouver. It was the latter family that drew Dwight’s attention. If the rumors he’d heard were true, then he may have found the solution to the problem he’d been mulling since boarding the ferry that morning: Helen MacGowan.

Helen had been on his mind almost constantly since she’d had given birth a week and a half before. She was progressing much slower than he would have liked, but it had everything to do with their pace of travel. Despite slowing to covering no more than twenty miles per day, it was clear a period of good food and quiet recuperation was desperately needed in order for her to regain her strength. Dwight had received word that a congregation of Catholic sisters had established a small hospital on the Saint James Mission Claim not far from the fort and he hoped they would be able to provide Helen a bed for her and her child to rest for a couple of weeks before they continued north to Tenino. 

Two weeks of rest would do Helen a world of help, but would be a major hindrance to the rest of the party. The Poldarks, Penvenens, Jacksons and Wainwrights had another two weeks of travel ahead of them before they reached Bush Prairie. All of them would be in a race against time to clear enough land and build a weather-tight shelter before the coming winter. In short, they could not afford for the entire party to spend two weeks in Vancouver until Helen was ready for travel. Dwight had consulted with Ross and Randall Ellingston about his concerns the night before their final crossing, and all had agreed: they would have to split the party.

Ellingston had agreed to lead them up the rest of the way up to Tenino after her confinement was concluded. The remainder would leave for the prairie the day after tomorrow. Now, all they had to do was tell the MacGowans, and neither he nor Ross was looking forward to doing so. 

A glimpse of a familiar face drew Dwight from his brooding. “Franklin!” he shouted. A tall, rather intimidating black man stopped at the sound of his name. Dwight took off his hat and waved it, finally catching the man’s attention. 

His dark face split into a smile, so stunning in its masculine beauty as to render the severity in his features moot. “Enys! While I live and breathe, how are you?”

“Very well indeed!” Dwight laughed. He slowed the team to a stop and held out a hand to his friend, clapping him on the back as he settled onto the bench. Dwight set the team forward. “It’s been three years or more since I’ve seen you, Paul. How have you been?” 

“Well enough, since Hudson’s Bay pulled out.” Franklin pulled on the fragrant cheroot he had clenched between his teeth and blew several smoke rings. “Been working at the mill making deliveries off and on for the last three months, but more off than on.” He gave Dwight a glance from the side of his eyes. “They much prefer doing business with someone a few shades lighter than me.”

Dwight growled low in his throat. “One of the things I don’t admire about some of the people around here.”

Franklin shrugged. “I had plans to head over to Portland tomorrow, to see about getting a ship back down south to San Francisco. Had a few matters of business to wrap up before I left otherwise I’d not have seen you.”

Dwight grinned. “Providential, one would say, eh?” 

“Too right it is.” Franklin puffed leisurely. “You back to stay?”

“I am,” Dwight confirmed. “Heading up to Bush Prairie with a number of good friends of mine. Come to our camp fire tonight and I’ll introduce you.”

“I’d like that, Enys, very much.” He pounded Dwight once on the back. “Damn good to see you again, Dwight. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

Dwight slowed just enough for Franklin to jump down safely and waved his friend goodbye. An idea was beginning to form in the back of his mind and he couldn’t wait to share it with Ross.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Richard walked towards the spot where he and Glenn had set up camp for the night, very deep in thought. He’d woken that morning, happy in the knowledge that by the end of the day he would be a mere four day’s ride away from settling his growing family into their new home. He would no longer have to force his wife and children to live rough in a travel-worn wagon near the end of its life, seeking whatever warmth they could get from smoky fires and buffalo robes carrying the scent of months of less-than-adequate hygiene. Arthur’s last letter had assured him the homestead he’d built had enough space for them to see out the winter until they were able to build a place of their own. And he couldn’t wait to see Arthur, his little brother and -- other than Helen, Glenn and Adair -- his sole surviving family member.

He’d spent the better part of the last hour speaking with Ross and Dwight. ‘Speaking’ was a word for it. Arguing to the point of storming away from the damned, commonsensical fools to stew by the river before returning to concede the field to them. By the time the meeting was over, his hopes for reaching Tenino before the end of the week had been dashed. When the Poldark party left for the last, northerly leg of their journey, the MacGowans would linger behind in Vancouver under the care of Catholics. 

Dwight informed him of the presence of an order of sisters who had arrived in Vancouver from Montreal in December of the preceding year. They’d opened a series of small buildings near the fort, one of which served as an infirmary. He had been assured of a space there for Helen and the baby for as long as was needed. Richard remained apprehensive, for his thoughts about the Catholic Church were none too complimentary. The only redeeming benefit of the situation was they could offer Helen and Addie a clean, warm bed and decent meals for the duration of her stay. The kind of rest his wife needed to recover from her ordeals.

He trudged the last few yards towards their encampment, trying to summon the courage to break the news when he heard the sound of movement coming from the wagon. “You awake, Ellie?” he whispered as he ducked his head between the flaps of the canvas. Seconds later he heard the sound of his baby girl suckling at her mother’s breast and smiled. He lit the oil lamp and slipped in to kiss his two favorite girls, first brushing his lips across his wife’s and then the baby’s soft, auburn curls. Once done, he sat on a crate next to the bed. “How was she today? She sounded a wee bit fussy on the crossing.”

“Oh, we’re grand, now that the world has stopped churning under us,” Helen murmured softly. She had the most beautiful smile on her face, as she did whenever she fed their daughter. Richard could stare at his two lassies for hours and often did when he woke during the night to find them curled up together asleep. Or when he rocked the baby in his arms, wailing with indignation, as Helen readied a fresh clout. 

Little Adair MacGowan, named for her late paternal grandmother and the newest member of the Poldark party, was not shy about making her presence known to all those around her, but had yet to have a look about the place beyond the confines of the wagon. Helen, although much improved since Addie’s birth, still tired easily and had found it difficult to sleep while they bumped and jolted along the rutted roads leading through the Willamette Valley to Portland. And while it seemed that Helen was adjusting well to all of the late night feedings, changing clouts and the crying, the dark circles under her eyes conveyed the real truth. She was in desperate need of rest.

He leaned against the bed to stroke his finger along the baby’s plump cheeks as they filled with milk. He used the same finger to trace along the deep blue vein that ran underneath the pale skin of Helen’s breast until the point it disappeared into her cleavage. His wife’s cheeks bloomed with color and he grinned. “Just as lovely as the day I asked you to marry me,” Richard murmured, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “Lovelier, in fact.”

“Mercies, you are such a flatterer.” She giggled, a musical trill he’d first heard on their wedding day and it had charmed him anew every time he’d heard it since. She hadn’t done it in several weeks...or had it been even longer than that? He hadn’t given her much to laugh about since they’d left Scotland, and he owed her some moments of peace and quiet after all the sacrifices she’d made to follow him out here.

He was about to lean in for a kiss when a knock on the side of the wagon sounded. “Richard? Helen? It’s Dwight. Is this a good time to check in with you?”

Richard swallowed a curse. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her! He looked out of the break in the canvas and frantically shook his head. “Helen’s feeding Addie right now,” he barked in a voice louder than was necessary.

“Tell Dwight to come in, Richard,” Helen added softly. He turned to see Addie’s sleepy face peering over Helen’s shoulder as she burped and couldn’t help but chuckle. Helen glanced back, mischief appearing in her pretty eyes. “I dare say both of us are well acquainted with him, aren’t we, acushla?” This last was said to the baby, who cooed and gurgled, her belly full. 

Richard turned back to face Dwight.  _ I’ve not told her! _ he mouthed frantically.  _ Give me fifteen minutes! _

“Oh-OH!” Dwight exclaimed. “I need to go and get some...apples from my tent!” he nearly bellowed, making Richard wince, but knowing it would carry into the wagon. “I’ll be back in a moment!”

“Goodness, one would think I’d gone deaf rather than just given birth,” Helen observed when Richard returned to her side. 

_ Stop waffling, man,  _ he chided himself. He plucked up the fresh clout she had in her lap and held out his hands for the babe. “Let me do that for you, Ellie,” he murmured. “Tis the least I can do.”

She blushed prettily once again. “Thank you, Richie,” she sighed, placing Addie in his arms. “I look at her and marvel how small she is when she’s in my arms. She looks like the tiniest of china dolls in yours.” 

“Och,” he grunted, unwrapping the child from her swaddling and unpinning the fabric with great skill. He quickly tended to the soiled babe, repinning the fresh cloth and swaddling her in her blankets. “Helen, I need to speak with you.” He set the soiled diaper aside, placing it in the basin they kept to the side of the bed until it could be taken out and washed. 

“That sounds serious,” she replied, a frown furrowing her brows the same way Addie’s would when she was about to let loose a howl when her belly was empty.

“It ‘tis, a bit,” he sighed, rocking his daughter in his arms. The soft, snuffling sounds she made were enough to make him fall in love with her if he hadn’t already been swept under her spell the first moment he’d seen her. He remembered how wan Helen had been. shortly after giving birth. He would have never used the word fragile to describe his wife until that moment, and he focused on those feelings to propel him through what had been decided. She sat very still, her eyes never leaving his face as he explained all of the reasons they needed to stay. 

He felt as though he’d spoken for an age when her hand reached for his where it rested on their child’s sleeping form. “Didn’t you think to come to me first, before you made this decision?” she asked. Her voice caught on the last word and he was dismayed to see a tear slip down her cheek to land on the crest of her breast. 

“I dinna want to trouble you, lass,” he confessed.. 

She dashed away the tears from her cheeks. “But I don’t want to be the one to keep you from seeing your brother, now that we’re so very close.”

“I’ll not go without you, Helen, before you even suggest it,” Richard insisted. “Dwight said he’d know for certain after seeing you tonight, but he dinnae think it will be more than two weeks before you’ll be fit to travel.” The baby started to fuss and Richard gave her back to her mother, whose milky scent and softness he knew the child wanted, much more than her father’s gruff ways and rumbling voice. “And Glenn and I will come visit with you every day, as many times a day as you wish.”

She sighed sadly. “Perhaps it won’t be so bad,” she admitted. “Having a week or two of quiet, in a real bed, without worrying about when next we’d be underway couldn’t help but make me stronger.”

“Aye, lass,” Richard agreed, his concern beginning to lift with the hope he heard in her voice. “And the fresh fruits and vegetables I saw for sale by the fort will be a lovely change to what we’ve been subsisting on.” He stroked her hair, thick and curling against the pillow. “You’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time.”

She gave him a smile. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, Richie. You’ll make sure you bring Demelza to see me whenever you can, won’t you? As much as I adore the men in my family, visits from Demelza and the other ladies from our party will be so lovely.” Richard closed his eyes and was silent for a moment too long. He opened them, finding the look of betrayal in her eyes enough to make him wince. “You mean to say we would be left here? All alone?”  Helen let out a sob that startled Addie, who woke and cried at her mother’s despair. 

He’d never seen Helen cry in such a way, in all the time they’d been together, and it made him hate himself even more than he already did. “Helen, I’m sorry, love,” he apologized, gathering the wailing child from his wife’s arms. She raised her hands to cover her face as she wept. The words poured out of him in a torrent, but he was certain she hadn’t comprehended a thing. She curled up on her side facing away from him. He cuddled the baby against his chest with one arm and rested the broad hand of the other on her shoulder, each sob sending blow after blow to his heart. 

Several moments passed while he did what he could to comfort the distressed newborn until Helen turned to fix him with an accusatory gaze, reddened and swollen from her tears. “Leave her to me, Richard,” she rasped, taking the child from his arms. “And I’ll ask you to leave us alone for a time.”

Richard’s heart twisted in his chest, however he acquiesced to her request, knowing it was not the time to argue.

~*~*~*~*~

“Please go ahead and get settled once again, Helen,” Dwight requested, assisting Helen into a sitting position on the bed. He’d been with her for the last twenty minutes and had conducted a thorough examination.“I’ll go get your husband so we can make the necessary arrangements.” 

She nodded brusquely, biting her tongue to keep from telling him exactly what she thought about “the necessary arrangements” and watched him disappear through the split in the canvas. She sagged against the side of the wagon, releasing the gasp of pain that had almost escaped her lips as she’d sat up. The motion pulled on the mending tear from the birth, and she was certain she would find bright, red blood on her nightrail when she prepared for sleep. She experienced a moment of silent frustration over her situation: full of a fighting spirit, but lacking the energy to back it up for more than a few moments at a time.

From the moment she’d discovered the news that she carried their child, Helen had entered into a bargain with herself: to put on the bravest face she could manage until they reached Tenino. There had been moments where she’d nearly reached the breaking point, but knew if her facade were to crack it would lend every doubt and fear she knew her husband had carried, had worked so hard to keep to himself. 

She’d always questioned his reasons for choosing her to marry her, despite the fact it had been over a year since he’d first told her he loved her. The specter of his first wife, Joan, was always lurking in her mind, waiting for the moments when Helen’s defenses were down to remind her of the past.  _ One would think I would know where I am held within my own husband’s affections by now, _ she brooded to herself. The only time she’d felt secure in his devotion were in the moments they’d had to themselves, wrapped tight in one another’s embrace, the sweat of their bodies drying on their skin. 

But it had been a very long time since they’d made love, and would be a while yet. She did not begrudge the reason for that fact for all of the gold on earth. Her eyes fell upon the tiny, pink face of her daughter lying quietly in her basket, and a wave of adoration swept through her, strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. She was the most unexpected gift to have ever come Helen’s way. As much as she would love her child with every breath in her body, the truth was in the weeks leading up to Addie’s arrival, Helen and Richard’s lives had descended into the realm of the mundane. Did he still feel the same way about her as he once did?

She heard footsteps approaching and dabbed at her cheeks with the cuff of her nightrail before the flap shifted aside. “Helen?” Richard asked. “I’m here with Dwight. Can we come in?”

His voice was tentative in a way she’d never heard before.  _ As well it should be _ , she thought to herself. She nodded wearily. They clambered into the back of the wagon. Richard reached for her hand and she welcomed the heat of it, despite herself. “Dwight?” Her voice sounded rusty. She raised her eyes to meet the doctor’s clear, concerned blue eyes and knew the answer before she even asked the question. “How long must we stay here?”

He pursed his lips. “Ten days to two weeks, my dear,” Dwight confirmed. 

“Oh, Richard!” She dissolved against him, tears falling down her cheeks as a crushing guilt settled upon her shoulders.  _ She _ was the cause of their party’s break up, the family she’d relied upon and come to love during five of the hardest months she’d ever endured. Richard held her as she wept, the sound of his voice as it whispered into her ear as broken as hers. 

“Helen.” She felt Dwight’s hand touch her knee. He looked stricken, as if he would have preferred being anywhere else than where he was. “I wish to explain the reasons to you so you’ll understand why I’ve prescribed this amount of time for your convalescence.”

“Honestly, Dwight, it will only take us another four days to reach Tenino!” Helen pleaded. “We have a home ready-made for us as soon as we arrive, so I’ll be able to rest until midsummer if that’s what I need to do!”

He gathered her hand in his. “Helen, my dear friend, if it were only that I’d not hesitate for you to leave on the morrow. Forgive me, Richard, but I will need to be blunt,” Dwight stated with a glance at her husband. “It’s been two weeks since Addy arrived. The tear you sustained during her birth is one that I would expect to be nearly healed in normal circumstances or at least more than halfway given our travel schedule.” He paused. “As it stands, it still bleeds freely and barely looks as if it’s been a few days since the birth. We have not been able to keep the area as clean as it should be, which I believe is greatly responsible for the lag.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s bleeding now, isn’t it, Helen?”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and yet she nodded once in response.

“Mo chroí,” Richard whispered. Helen glanced up at her husband and found his cheeks drained of their usual ruddy warmth. “You’ve not mentioned anything of this?”

“‘Tisn’t something one discusses with one’s husband, Richard.” Helen could sense he had more he wished to say on the subject, but refrained. She withdrew her hand from the doctor’s gentle grip and twisted her fingers together in the sheets. “But it is not as bad as it has been, Dwight.”

“That is true, my dear, but it is still nowhere near where it should be by this point in time. In addition to this, the level of exhaustion I’ve witnessed is not one I would expect to see in someone of your youth and relative health, despite the rigors of our travels.” He sighed heavily, then appeared to steel himself. “My greatest fear is that an infection has settled in which is partially responsible for the lack of progress. If that is the case, and you were to continue on to Tenino, unless you were able to find someone who could give you the care you need, the infection would worsen and could very well lead to your death.” Helen blanched. Death? Leaving Addie and her father and brother, after all of the struggle and sacrifice? She searched Dwight’s face, praying he was being melodramatic, but found nothing other than the sad truth written on his countenance. 

“Dear God,” Richard rasped. She saw the color drain from her husband’s handsome face, and knew within seconds the thoughts running through his mind. He’d already lost one wife in childbirth...and now, facing the possibility of history repeating itself would be too much for him to bear.

“The Sisters can provide the level of care you would need in case of infection, and in an environment where you would be able to rest comfortably, without worrying about getting settled into your new home, because I believe I know you quite well by now.” He smiled at her. “You’d not be able to stay quiet for a moment if there were something that needed doing.”

She wished he’d stop looking at her with such compassion. It would make it easier to shout down his reasoning. In the end, she knew the battle was lost, and for the best reason in the world: her beautiful daughter, who had just begun to wake. She nodded. “Fine,” she agreed dully, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. “Addie’s hungry. Please give her to me, Richard, and then the two of you leave us to make the plans.”

Helen untied the ribbon on her nightrail and settled Addie’s seeking mouth against her nipple, focusing her mind on the pleasure of this time with her daughter instead of what would come in the morning. She’d known they would need to part with the Poldarks soon enough. But she thought she’d have a few more days to grow used to the idea, not a single night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for all those who are continuing to read this tale I'm spinning -- I appreciate your kudos and comments so much! And thanks once again to Rainpuddle13 for her marvelous beta and counsel. :-)
> 
> The Sisters I've begun to introduce you to are five individuals whose history I have come to know quite well. One hundred sixty years ago, Mother Joseph of the Sacred Heart and Sisters Praxedes of Providence, Blandine of the Holy Angels, Mary of the Precious Blood, and Vincent de Paul arrived in Vancouver at the behest of Bishop Augustin Magloire Alexandre Blanchet after a month long sea journey from Montreal, Canada. They are all remarkable women, Mother Joseph was so well respected and considered a foundress of the state, she has her [statue as one of two representatives in Statuary Hall in Washington DC.](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/34/Mother_Joseph_statue_United_States_Capitol_side_view.jpg) The other statue belongs to Marcus Whitman, another early pioneer to came to settle in the eastern part of the state in present day Walla Walla, was one of the stopping points for folks traveling up to Washington in the early days of the trail. This ended after Whitman and his family were killed by the Cayuse in 1847.
> 
> I've shifted the building of the first hospital by ten months (it really opened in June 1858), but other than that, I've remained true to their actual history. You'll meet Mother Joseph and the sisters in the next chapter.
> 
> Isn't history fun? :-D


	6. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to hell is paved by good intentions. _Saint Bernard of Clairvaux_

Ross held the glass of bourbon up to his eye, the amber liquid glowing bright in the light from the campfire. Anyone looking at him from afar would think he was a handsome, young man enjoying a relaxing evening. In truth, he was troubled and gloomy, something he hadn’t counted on feeling so close to their new home. Any fool would have figured it to happen, if they’d been paying attention and he certainly had not.

He’d hoped Dwight’s assessment of Helen’s condition was wrong, but in the end the doctor had been correct. The MacGowans would have to stay in Vancouver.

At least he’d been prepared for it. Demelza and the children, on the other hand, had not.

_ “What do you mean we’re leaving Richard, Helen, and the children behind?” Demelza asked, her wounded eyes leaving the stew she was tending to meet his. Her grip on the cover from the Dutch oven slackened. She reached out with her unprotected hand and her palm closed reflexively around the hot cast iron. “Judas!” she cried painfully as the lid clattered to the hard packed earth. _

_ The acrid taste of fear rose to the back of Ross’s throat. “You’re hurt yourself, love.” He reached for her, only to have her step back from him. _

_ She flapped her uninjured hand at him. “Never mind about that,” she said, her voice quavered, curling the other tight against her abdomen. _

_ His temper, so near the surface these days, ignited as red-hot as the coals of their fire. “To hell with that, Demelza!” he barked, stepping forward and grabbing her wrist. She hissed at the movement, and Ross saw several blisters rising on her palm before his very eyes. “You of all people know how quickly something like this can become far worse out here!” He shifted his hold to her elbow, making an effort to propel her forward. “Dwight will see to this now.” _

_ “Let me go, you jackass,” she spat, digging in her heels. “Why aren’t the they coming with us?” _

_ “Dwight will do a better job of explaining than I, and you know it!” Ross snapped. He struggled to move her forward, for fear of further injuring her hand. “Come with me now and hear it from him.” _

_ She wrenched her arm from his grasp. “I’ll not take another step further until you explain this to me!” _

_ “So help me God, you will do as you’re told, woman,” he growled, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. _

_ She swore and wriggled, pounding his back as he strode across the camp. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Ross Poldark!” _

_ Ross ignored the shocked, speculative stares their behavior was causing, including those of Richard, Glenn, Drake and GC who were all gathered near the MacGowan wagon, learning the finer points of whittling. _

_ “Ross, what the he—” Dwight asked, stepping from the back of the wagon. _

_ “Demelza’s burnt her palm.” He deposited his wife onto her feet in front of him and would have been slain five times over if her glare had been a knife. He returned as good as he got, crossing his arms over his chest. “And while you tend to her, perhaps  _ you _ can explain why the MacGowans must stay.” _

The doctor told her his concerns over Helen’s delayed recovery while he cleaned and treated Demelza’s burn. Moments later, she’d stormed away, her hand wrapped and in a thunderous temper. She’d leveled one final, furious glance at Ross before she climbed into the back of the MacGowan wagon.

He tipped the glass, draining the whiskey in a swallow that left him wheezing and rose for more, continuing to brood as the barrel gurgled another two fingers of liquor. Clearly he’d made a mistake in not telling her, but he felt he’d done the right thing. What would have been the point of needlessly upsetting her over something that might not have happened?

_ If you  _ had _ told her about it she never would have burned herself, _ a voice niggled in the corner of his mind. That much was true, and he knew he’d never forgive himself if her injury should become infected.

He was raising the glass to his lips when a tug on his waistcoat made him jump, spilling a good portion of the contents onto his chin and shirt. He swore loudly, turning to see GC standing at his feet, wiping bourbon from his face with his shirtsleeve. “Jesus, lad, you should know better than to sneak up on me like that!” he exclaimed, setting the glass down and reaching for his kerchief.

“I called your name but you didn’t hear me, Uncle,” the boy said, his voice muffled by Ross’s harried ministrations.

“Well, what is it then?” he asked, abandoning his efforts and marching the boy towards the tent for a clean shirt. If Demelza were angry with him now, she’d be livid over her newly adopted son smelling like a drunkard.

“Well, me and Drake—”

“‘Drake and I’,” Ross corrected impatiently, rummaging around the carpetbag.

GC sighed theatrically. Ross bit back a laugh, for the boy had sounded just like he did when he was at his wit’s end. “Drake and I want to camp out with Glenn tonight.”

“Do you now?” he said absently.

“Yes. We do.” Ross turned to find Drake standing behind them in the tent opening. He’d grown taller over the last few months. Ross was certain the young man would be able to look him straight in the eye before the year was out. The icy temper crackling in Drake’s eyes all but froze him to the spot. “What in the hell was  _ that _ all about?”

Ross frowned, taken by surprise by the tone of authority he’d heard in Drake’s voice. It had dropped only a month before, and this challenge had taken on a more threatening tenor that the occasional fits of boyish anger Ross had witnessed prior to this moment. It tried his already-strained patience to the breaking point. Still, he was the adult here. “Your sister and I had a disagreement, Drake,” he said through gritted teeth. “I thought that much would have been obvious.”

“It was obvious to the folks all the way over to Portland!” Drake hissed. He stepped closer, raising his chin, his mouth turned down into a sneer. “She told me you didn’t strike he—”

“—How dare you, you insolent bastar—”

“—otherwise you would be picking up teeth!”

Fury boiled, and a haze of red shifted over Ross’s vision. He reached for Drake’s collar and drew the boy up onto his toes.

“Stop, stop, stop!” a small voice wept near his hip. He stopped, realizing it was Geoffrey Charles, his arms wrapped around his uncle’s leg, sobbing as if his heart would break.

Ross’s anger deflated in seconds. “W-What am I doing?” he rasped. The hands that released Drake shook from adrenaline and fear at what he’d almost done. He dropped to his knees and gathered the boy into his arms. “GC,” he whispered, “there, there now, my lad.” He glanced up at Drake, who stood with shoulders slumped. The bravado of moments ago had evaporated and, for an instant, Ross recognized the frightened boy who must have cowered from his father’s fists, just as his sister had done. He extended a hand and drew Drake down into their embrace. “I’m so sorry, son,” he whispered, relieved to feel his brother-in-law’s arms circle around him.

“Me too, Ross, I really am,” Drake murmured. Ross smiled against the lad’s forehead as his voice cracked on the last word. “When I saw you carrying her like that, and how angry she was…” He drifted off for a moment, patting GC on the head. “I told her on your wedding day I would murder you if you ever harmed her.”

Ross drew back a little to look him in the eye. “And I believe you’d do just that,” he said, convinced by the truth of the vow he saw there. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t lose my temper with her again, because that sister of yours can try my patience at times.” Drake snorted in agreement. “But I’ll never harm her. I love her too much to ever do that.”

“I believe you, Ross,” Drake said. “I think we’re all touchy these days.”

Ross nodded, sighing heavily as he scrubbed his face with his hand. He was physically and mentally exhausted. It was moments like these, when he’d ridden hard and made countless decisions affecting the lives of people he’d grown to care deeply about that he wished they were back in Cornwall, merely out for a drive in the country before returning to the stone cottage by the sea, where they could relax in front of a fire and sleep in downy beds. Instead, they were living in a tent grown shabbier with each passing mile. And when they reached their final destination, there would be no cozy cottage or soft beds, but more nights in the tent, and weeks of backbreaking work to carve out a weathertight shelter for four and enough plowable farmland for a winter garden from acres of virgin forest. When Dwight first told Ross about Bush Prairie, he’d been swept up in the adventure of it. If he’d been a bachelor, like Dwight, he wouldn’t be at all concerned about the coming tasks. But he had three people depending upon him, to keep them safe, warm and fed until the spring thaw. The prospect had grown more daunting the closer they came to the prairie, and Ross had to admit he wasn’t certain he’d succeed.

And now he had this matter of his ridiculous fight with Demelza and the reason for it to contend with. He eased himself down to the tarpaulin floor of their shelter, crossed his legs, and drew his nephew into his lap. Drake sat next to him. “What’s troubling you the most?” he asked the boy, already knowing what the answer would be.

“Heading north without the MacGowans,” he mumbled. 

Ross nodded. “I expect you know the reason for it.”

The young man jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “A bit. Glenn’s da only told him the news a few minutes before you showed up.” His brow furrowed, the resemblance to his sister more than striking. “Glenn’s my best friend, Ross.”

Ross cursed under his breath, and extracted the first giggle from GC in the process. “Of course he is. Have been since the beginning, I reckon.” Drake nodded and sniffed, reaching for his kerchief. Ross turned his head to give his brother-in-law some privacy while he tended to his tears. “I believe I mismanaged this thing from the very start.”

“ _ You _ reckon?” Drake snorted. Ross nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. “It’s not as if you and Richard aren’t always palling around. I mean, aren’t you going to miss him?”

Ross looked at his nephew, who at five already resembled his late father, Francis. He thought of his cousin, who had been his best friend since childhood. There were still days when he’d find himself bereft from his loss and while Drake was not facing something as permanent as death, the two lads wouldn’t see one another again for at least six months.

“Yes, son,” he agreed. “It’s natural to miss one’s best friend.” They were quiet for a while, an occasional snuffle the only sound between them. Finally, he cleared his throat, gave Drake’s hand a squeeze and leaned down to kiss GC’s cheek. “Do you still wish to camp out with Glenn tonight, my lad?” GC nodded, sniffling and wiping his running nose with his sleeve. “Alright then, a clean shirt for you, young man. Drake, can you and Glenn manage the small tent?” He glanced towards the open flap. “I need to apologize to your sister.”

“Yes, Ross,” he said, rising to his feet. They managed to get GC cleaned up, holding toweling soaked in cold water against his eyes and cheeks, in an attempt to conceal the fact that he’d been crying, and set about gathered the bedding they would need.

“You will set up our small tent right next to ours, and you will go to sleep when told to, you understand?” Ross stated.

“Yessir,” GC agreed. He giggled as Ross ruffled his overly long hair. They scampered out of the tent.

Ross started to put his palette together, handling the buffalo robes with a skill acquired after countless nights of practice and had begun to unbutton his whiskey-splattered shirt when he heard GC’s voice outside the tent. “Uncle Ross said we could camp out with Glenn tonight, Mama!”

“Did he now?” she said with a smile in her voice. Ross had noticed whenever she spoke to her adopted son her voice would take on a tone different from any she used with he or Drake. There was a low, nurturing gentleness that never failed to make him wonder what it would be like when they had their own child. He had an image of her, heavy with child, flash suddenly in his mind and it made his knees weaken.  “And why does your hair smell like a distillery?”

Ross winced. He’d forgotten the hair. “I snuck up on Uncle Ross and made him spill it all over both of us!” GC proclaimed.

“I think Ross got the worst of it, sister,” Drake said ruefully.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Where is your uncle, sweetheart?” The gentleness was still there, but with a slight edge to it.

“He’s in the big tent,” the lad said. “You’ve been crying, haven’t you, Mama?”

“A little, sweetheart,” she murmured. “And so have you, I see. Was it about Glenn?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“I’m sad that we have to say goodbye to the MacGowans tomorrow. You know Helen is my very good friend, like Glenn is yours.”

“Uh huh. That’s why we want to camp with him tonight.” He paused. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

“We certainly will,” she said, and Ross could hear her trying to hold back her emotions. It took all he had within him not to burst out of the tent to gather her into his arms.

“Are you alright, Demelza?” Drake’s voice broke in.

“Yes, I will be fine, thank you,” she said, her voice firmer. “Now you two go find your friend and get settled for the night,” she said. “Mind that you use extra blankets tonight, boys! It was very chilly last night and I’ll not have you catch your death with a cold.” Ross heard the boys’ feet pounding off into the distance, and turned just in time to see Demelza silhouetted by the light from the campfire. 

She stepped into the tent, her arms crossed across her abdomen. “Ross.”

He could always count on enjoying the sound of his name coming from her lips, and yet this time her voice sounded flat, tentative. “Demelza, I’m sorry,” he said softly. Even in the flickering glow from the oil lamp, it was evident she’d been crying. Tears still sparkled on her eyelashes and the tip of her nose was red. He found he had to keep himself from reaching for her to kiss it. She nodded silently, walking further into the tent and began gathering some articles of clothing the boys would need for the morning. She cradled them awkwardly against her chest, her right hand heavily bandaged. “Here, let me do that,” he said, rushing over to her to take up the clothes from her arms. “You…you had a good visit with Helen and Addie?”

“Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely, meeting his eyes with hers. Anger and hurt simmered. She moved about the tent, gathering her nightrail and brush. 

Was she leaving? To sleep over with Helen and the baby as the boys were doing with Glenn? The silence grew, ballooning to take up the space between them. The words were out before he could stop them. “I didn’t want to worry you over something that might not hap—” 

She held up a hand and he bit off his sentence. “Ross, we do need to discuss this, but I’d rather not be that conversation interrupted by the boys when they return.” He nodded, concerned by the measured calmness of her voice, but agreed with her reasoning. “I would also like some time to myself to think about what I wish to say.”

He experienced real concern then. “Whatever you wish.” He reached out a hand, crestfallen when she stepped out of his reach. “Sweetheart.”

“Please,” she said, shaking her head and looked up, blinking rapidly. “I’ll finish getting this sorted if you’ll help them with the tent.”

His hand dropped to his side. “Yes, my dear,” he said hoarsely. “But, you’re staying here, yes?” he asked. He had to know what she intended to do. 

She nodded, keeping her eyes averted while she settled her night things onto the palette. Relief flooded his bloodstream, and his throat closed with emotion. He rebuttoned his shirt, the thought of changing into a clean one forgotten, and left her in their tent.

~*~*~*~*~

Demelza watched him through her lashes as he shouldered his way through the tent flap. She hadn’t missed how his eyes had darkened with sadness as she’d asked for some solitude before they discussed the events of the day. The mere thought of it all caused a lump the size of a fist to form in her throat, and the accursed tears slipped freely down her cheeks once more. She thought she’d shed all of her tears as she’d sat with Helen in the MacGowan wagon, her arms locked around the dearest friend she’d ever had.

Demelza had some recollections of the mother who died so soon after Drake’s birth, but they’d grown hazy through the years that had followed. She’d never had time to befriend the other girls in their village, since she’d had her hands full raising six brothers. It wasn’t until she’d reached Manhattan that she’d formed her first friendship with another woman. While there had been moments when she’d missed Mrs Thomason’s wise counsel, she’d considered her as a mentor, the person who’d taught her most everything she’d known as a seamstress. Never as a confidante, as close to her as an older sister might have been. Demelza had found both in Helen MacGowan, almost from the moment they’d met five months before.

They had been able to bond in ways Demelza had not with Caroline Penvenen, Effie Jackson, or Flora and Betsy Robinson, all women Demelza would have a chance to know better as their respective families settled in Bush Prairie. Both of the women were newly married to virile, stubborn, yet loving husbands, both with young boys to raise. Helen was only four years older than Demelza, but there were times she’d felt like the older sister in the relationship. Demelza brought her earthy knowledge of flowers, plants, and seeds to the Scotwoman’s life, who reciprocated with teaching her younger friend the finer aspects of a gentlewoman’s life: crocheting and knitting, exquisite needlepoint and cross-stitch. 

And, as Helen’s pregnancy had advanced, she offered Demelza everything she’d learned, sparing few details and promising to be by her young friend’s side whenever Demelza’s own time came.  They exchanged favorite receipts, and patterns for shirtwaists; confidences about the challenges they faced as women on the trail: grumpy husbands after the long, tiring days, coming up with new things to do with cornmeal, and missing the simple creature comforts they’d been used to for most of their lives. In the end, it hadn’t mattered, because they had grown inseparable, or so it had seemed until the miles before their inevitable parting had grown fewer.

They’d long since extracted promises from Ross and Richard to make the journey as often as they could once the snow melted and roads between Tenino and the prairie were once again passable. She and Helen had begun planning only the evening before while they awaited the dawn to board the ferry to Washington: picnics in late spring, canning fruits and vegetables in the summer and early autumn, sharing in one another’s lives as their children grew and their families prospered. They had less than a week to share enough to last them the next few months before they could see each other again.

A week reduced to less than a day, all in the blink of an eye.

Her temper simmered back to life as she set about finding her nightrail, the bandages on her hand making her feel clumsy. She didn’t question Dwight’s explanation at all, for she’d had her own concerns about Helen’s slow recovery. The thing that truly stuck in her craw was the way Ross had kept it from her, as if she were too fragile in heart and mind to understand it. She and Ross had been through so much since they met, a sweeping, epic journey across nearly two thousand miles, facing challenges neither had expected. She believed she’d shown him she was more than capable of the kind of life they had ahead of them. Dammit, she was no delicate flower, regardless of her current injury. When would he show her he trusted her enough to confide his concerns?  

She was giving the pillows a thump when she heard the sound of the three boys making their way towards their tent, voices filled with excitement for the coming night. She smiled when she heard Glenn’s voice slip between octaves as it had begun doing more and more often. Drake’s own voice was almost unrecognizable these days, nowhere as deep as her husband’s, but with a promise of richness to come.

She would miss the sight of her brother and his friend running about camp or bringing back fish they’d caught. Now, as she wondered how Drake was coping with the news of the MacGowans’ departure, she realized she’d been so wrapped up in her own grief that she hadn’t taken a moment to think of his. She’d always felt a flicker of guilt about taking Drake away from his older brothers when she fled their home in Illugan. Drake had run after all of them, but Sam, only two years his senior, from the time he could, and she often wondered how their absence affected him. There was no way to correspond with her brothers in Cornwall, for fear her father or Colin would have found out. Glenn was the first friend he’d had near his age since their flight over two years ago. 

She then thought of her darling Geoffrey Charles, the little boy who had lost so much in the last year. He’d gained not one but two big brothers on their trip west and was always tagging after them, oftentimes much to their chagrin. And now he was losing one of them.

She was about to step out of the tent to hug them both when she heard Ross’s voice. The deep baritone of his voice sent unwanted shivers along her spine. “Help me with this last stake, son.” He’d started referring to Drake as his son since their night in South Pass, when she’d waited – white-lipped with fear – until her brother’s return to camp, tired and bloodied but beaming with pride. She remembered how furious she’d been with her husband when he’d allowed Drake to go on patrol. It had taken them almost three days to finally reconcile after that. Would it take that long to do so again?

“You’ve all that you need from the big tent, gentlemen?” Ross said. It was only then she realized she’d forgotten their nightclothes.  _ Time to stop hiding, Demelza _ .

“Here you go, boys,” she said, stepping through the tent flap, the garments neatly folded over her arm. They’d pitched the tent about twenty feet from the family shelter and had even built a small fire nearby. “Be sure to bank the fire before you go to sleep, understand?” She flicked a glance at her husband, whose face was inscrutable. Dammit.

“Yes, Demelza,” Drake said. He and GC rolled their eyes at the same time. Ross’s cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. She had a difficult time keeping a straight face herself.

“Mind the volume, gentlemen,” Ross warned. “You’re not to keep the rest of the camp awake with your shenanigans.” They nodded. “Good night, lads.”

Both GC and Drake bussed her cheek, necessitating that she lean down for the little one to reach, and all but galloped their way into the tent. The combined noise the three boys made was not close to ear-splitting, but louder than usual for the time of night.

“I’ll make the first trip over to remind them,” Ross said softly, making her jump.

She fiddled with a tendril of hair at her nape. “I was thinking the same thing, actually.” Nervous laughter re-emphasized the tension between them. “I need to heat some water for willow bark tea. Dwight said it should help with this.” She raised her hand, still annoyed with herself for doing something so stupid, and for the scene that followed.

“Does it hurt abominably, Demelza?” he asked, as they walked to the back of their wagon. He reached for the kettle. “Let me, please.” She nodded her thanks. “Wouldn’t a tot of bourbon be better?”

His voice was dark and smooth, like the liquor itself. She arched a brow. “I know we’re running low, so I’ll leave what’s left for you and Dwight to share.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile, the shadow of a dimple winking at her. “I believe we have enough to spare.” He set the kettle over the embers of their fire, adding some kindling and wood to bring it back to life. They were silent for several moments while the water boiled and they sipped some of the fiery liquid, its colour so reminiscent  of his eyes. In time, those eyes sought hers and she was thankful for the liquid courage that warmed her belly. “Demelza, I must apologize for treating you with such disrespect earlier this evening. You’d received a shock, a very unwelcomed one, and you had every right to demand an explanation for it.”

She swallowed and looked down at her hands, one holding her cup, the other swaddled in multi-coloured cloth strips obtained from Flora Robinson’s rag bag. “I had no business refusing medical care for the burn, Ross, and making such a fuss,” she admitted. “But it was more than my hand that hurt. It felt as if my heart was shattering apart in my chest.” A tear slid down her cheek and she raised the back of her wrapped hand to swipe away at it impatiently.

“I realize that now, sweetheart.” He shifted closer to her, removing the empty cup from her hand, and didn’t resist when his fingers brushed hers.

“She’s the very best friend I’ve ever had.” She hadn’t wanted to cry in front of him, but the tears came, and kept coming as he gathered her against him. His arms held her tight and she sagged against him, the warmth of his body soothing her troubled mind, until she wept no more.

“My darling girl,” he whispered, his voice wavering. She looked up to find tears trembling on his lashes. “It took your brother threatening to murder me to begin to realize it.” He used the pads of his thumbs to brush the tears from her cheeks. “Come. Let’s make your tea and go in for the evening. I’ve something to share with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffie... well, you'll be relieved to know that I've got the next chapter well underway, so I hope to get it up for you very soon. 
> 
> Thank you Rainpuddle for all your help and many thanks to all of you who have continued to support this work and this author...you lift my spirits, and they need them these days.


	7. Reconciliation and Renewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of their final push towards their new home, the Poldarks spend time sharing, healing and reconciling.

Demelza had time to compose herself while he banked the fire and tended to the boys one last time. The cool towel had felt wonderful on her face and neck, while the willow bark tea and bourbon had done their job. The pain from her hand had receded to a dull sting she felt would be manageable for the night. Her shoulder, however, ached from doing double the work. She was wondering how she would remove the pins from her hair when Ross came back into the tent. “May I, Demelza?” he asked.

“Yes, Ross, thank you,” she said, her hand dropping to her lap. He moved to stand behind her. It was hard to keep from leaning back against him as his fingers moved through her hair to find the pins. “You never know how much you need something until it’s unavailable,” she said as the final pin was removed, the heavy plait of her hair falling down along her back.

“Do you want me to brush it for you?” he asked, his hand cupping the back of her head.

She closed her eyes. “Not yet.” She waited until he moved around to face her. “I’d like to hear what you have to share with me first.” She watched him swallow, and it almost made her laugh. Could he be nervous about this?

“After you asked for some time alone, I went for a walk down by the river.” He began to pace. “Do you remember when I said it took your brother threatening to murder me to begin to realize what I’d done?”

“Did he truly threaten you?” she asked incredulous.

Ross nodded. “He said he promised you on our wedding day.”

“Judas,” she said, feeling hot colour sting her cheeks. “Do I even want to know what happened here?”

He chuckled. “I’ll leave that decision to you. But the realization started there, and came to a resolution while I was by the river.” He stopped. “I realized that in all the time we’ve known each other I’ve never told you much about my childhood.”

Demelza blinked. “Why, no, you haven’t. And it has something to do with this situation we find ourselves facing?”

“Yes, and I beg your indulgence, for a few moments.” She nodded, confused, but curious to see where this would lead them. “I was the oldest male of the Poldarks born in my generation. My cousin Verity was two years older than I. More of a older sister, really.” He paused, the tension from his face easing, his gaze warm with remembrance. He glanced at Demelza. “She would have loved you, and you her.”

“What happened to her?” she asked, fearing the worst.

“She eloped with the captain of a packet ship,” he said, wryly. Demelza’s mouth dropped open and he laughed. “Caused quite a bit of scandal for the family, but he’s a good man and clearly adores her. They live in Falmouth with their two children.” He rubbed his chin, the sandpaper rasp of whiskers against fingers clearly audible. “I thought of moving there, after Francis died, but as much as I love the sea, making a living _on_ the sea was never something I fancied for myself.” He shook his head. “Sorry, my dear, I’ve gone down a different rabbit hole than I’d intended. Where was I?”

“You’d said you were the oldest male in your family?”

“Oh yes, thank you. Francis came along only a few months after me. Like Verity, our relationship was always more like that of siblings or best friends than cousins.” He frowned, looking down at his hands. “I had another brother born five years after Francis, named Claude Anthony.”

“A brother?” _Surprise after surprise,_ she thought to herself. _Why hadn’t I thought to ask him about brothers or sisters?_ Then she stopped and re-ran what he’d said through her head. “Pardon me. ‘Had’ a brother?” she asked.

“Yes. He died from a fever when I was eleven.”

“Oh, Ross,” she said, her heart breaking for the serious boy he must have been. Then something he’d told her the afternoon following their wedding as they walked along the riverside tickled at the edge of her memory. “When I asked you about my wedding ring you told me you lost your mother when you were nine, yes?” She fingered the gold band that hadn’t left her hand since he’d placed it there. He nodded. “So it was only you, your father, and your brother for a single year before Claude Anthony died.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ve very few good memories from that year.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine the sorrow he must have experienced, to lose two of the people who had meant the most to him. She searched his face. His eyes were fixed on the flickering oil lamp near their pallet. For a man known for his inscrutability, his handsome face was an open book to her tonight. Grief and sorrow were etched deep along the lines of his countenance.

She rose to her feet and touched his arm. He started, having been some place far from their tent. “I’m sorry, love. I’ll continue.” He cleared his throat. She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, walking beside him when his pacing resumed. “After my mother died, my father sent me off to school. It was something that was expected for boys of my age, something I’d been excited about. The new adventures to be had and such. When I finally left, I was glad to escape the sense of gloom that pervaded every inch of our home.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze.

“‘Tisn’t your fault, love,” he murmured. The corner of his mouth twitched up and he patted the back of her hand. “But I thank you.”

She nodded. “Please, go on, if you wish to.”

He nodded. “Once I arrived, I was able to adjust, although I missed both my mother and brother quite terribly. Francis was there, so I had a bit of the familiar with me, and eventually I’d come to terms with their loss. We were sent home for holiday breaks, but I only stayed at Nampara once, the first time. When I arrived, I discovered the house in a neglected state, as though my father and our servants had only been able to do the bare minimum to maintain a modicum of civility.” He pursed his lips in distaste. “He’d also changed after I’d left, even before then, after Mama died. He spent most of his time gallivanting around the county: gambling, drinking, chasing women.” He blinked, as if clearing his vision of the memory. “From then on, I chose to spend the time with schoolmates, or with Francis at Trenwith, rather than return to that empty house. I didn’t return to Nampara for good until I was sixteen, fully prepared to have an adult relationship with my father. If anything, he was worse than he’d been that first Christmas I came home.” He arched a look down at her. “I tended the farm and started to take over more responsibility at the mine until, four years later, Papa died from consumption.”

“My darling Ross,” she whispered.

He drew her around to face him. “All of that rambling preface to finally come to my point: that I always wished I’d had an older brother. Someone who I could speak with, ask questions, learn from.” He stopped, stroked her cheek. “I’ve got one now, Demelza. I don’t know why the thought hadn’t occurred to me before, but after the events of today, I’ve come to realize that Richard’s become that brother to me.” She could not help the tears that flowed down her cheeks for this man, this marvelous man who she’d been proud to call her husband, and found herself in his arms. “I’ve relied upon his counsel, almost since the first day of our trip. He’s taught me more about living in the wilderness than I ever expected to need. He’s given me no end of grief when I’ve caught the bigger fish, or when he’s outlasted me at the poker table.”

He drew back, cupping her face with his big, rough hands. “He’s given me advice about marriage to a fiery, passionate, and opinionated woman.” He smiled brilliantly at her, kissing the tip of her nose. “He’s taught me about raising strong sons, of leadership.” He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, his eyes darkening. “He’s shared what it feels like to be an expectant father, the fears and the joys.” He took a deep breath, as if he were about to unburden himself of a secret most dear. “He’s also done his best to help me figure out just how in the hell I’m to care for you all, to build us a home to keep us sheltered through the coming winter, when I’ve felt my own confidence in the task wane.”

His voice had grown rough, the uncertainty in his eyes making her wish to envelop him in her love. He kissed her, the faintest brush of lips against hers. “Dear one, I’ve been so busy, focused on the minutiae of managing this train that I almost missed the importance of our parting on the morrow.”

She embraced him, felt his cheek rest on the crown of her head as she rubbed her nose against the cambric fabric of his shirt, the muskiness of his skin joining the smoke from the fire and whiskey to make her hum deep in her throat. She could hear his heart pound underneath the ear she had pressed against his chest, smiling at the deep timbre of his voice when he sighed.

“Now, here you stand, my cinnamon girl, in your pretty wedding dress, as beautiful as you were the day agreed to be mine.” He tugged gently on her plait, a teasing gesture they’d shared during their time together, her chin lifting to meet his eyes. The gingham frock was travel worn, the bright blue faded from all of the rough washings, but when he looked at her, as he did now, she felt as if it were only yesterday that she’d pledged herself to him. “Demelza, please forgive me for keeping confidences from you.”

Fat tears fell from her lashes to trail down her cheeks. She nodded, mouthing his name, her fingers slipping through his hair to draw his head down, to capture his mouth with hers. She felt the last bastion wall of his guard collapse to rubble, their embrace changing to one of mutual consolation as he joined her in their collective grief.

~*~*~*~*~

Ross drew her against him, his head spinning with the sensations swirling within him, tasting the salt of her tears against his lips. He’d never been as emotionally naked before another soul in his life. The prospect of risking as much tonight had scared the shit out of him, but the pain he’d seen in her eyes, in the set of her mouth when she’d gathered her nightclothes had panicked him even more. Her left hand slid underneath the hem of his shirt, her nails grazing along his back and ribs as she stepped closer, her mouth opening against his, their breath ragged as their tongues twined, licked and tasted, the salt of sweat and tears mingling with the smoke of whiskey. A sob racked her body, and he crushed her to his chest, whispering nonsense and offering her his strength as he eased them both to the floor of their tent. He stroked her back, burying his face in her hair, petting her as if she were their lovely cat, Jezebel, praying his touch gentled her as it did their furry companion.

They lay for countless moments, her breath hitching against his throat until she quieted. He lifted the back of his hand to wipe the tears from his own eyes before brushing his thumb across her cheek. “‘Melza,” he whispered.

“I love you so, Ross,” she rasped, reaching to kiss him again only to wince as she bumped her injured hand.

“Darling, wait.” He scrambled to his knees, easing her from the ground until she knelt before him. She kissed him then, and the gentle, nuzzling pressure of her lips against his was like a balm. His mouth ran along her jawline to the spot just below her ear. “I want to take you to bed, Demelza,” he whispered, his teeth nipping her lobe. “I want to love you, to be buried deep inside of you as you hold me tight.”

She shivered against him as he tasted the skin near her pulse point. “I want you, too, Ross,” she sighed as her nails flexed against his left bicep, “so...so much, but the time...our week is passed.”

The meaning behind her words made its way past his need. “...Damn,” he murmured. He brushed a kiss against her throat before raising his head. Their eyes met, mutual disappointment mirrored in their gaze. He sighed, rallying to resume his exploration of her throat. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs rubbing the stiffened peaks he found begging for attention. “I shall have to content myself with pleasuring you, and watching as you fly in my arms.”

“I should enjoy that very much, dearest,” she whispered, arching her neck before easing back to look at him. “But if you should wish to chance it, I would, too,” she said, her voice wavering. Tears once again teased her lashes as a shy smile graced her lips. He swallowed, the implication clear.

Her words fed the hunger that had built like a wildfire within his blood, turning it to a yearning grounded deeper in something beyond desire. “Are you certain?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, breathless. He kissed her, rejoicing in her eager response. When he pulled away to search her face, the smile she offered him was one of such blinding adoration he trembled, lightheaded with emotion. “Ross, let me carry your child.”

A tear slid down from the corner of her eye. He brushed it away with the pad of his thumb, slipping his other arm around her waist and pulled her into his embrace. “Our child,” he gently corrected, drinking in her sigh with his lips.

~*~*~*~*~

Demelza leaned in against her husband, her lips parting under the insistence of his mouth. She responded in kind, growing dizzy with the need that coiled within her, low in her belly. She’d been thinking of telling him she was ready -- more than ready -- to try for a baby, and had planned to do so until the events from earlier had made her desire to broach the subject nearly evaporate. The strength of his arm held her tight against his lean, sturdy body while the fingers of his other hand wove through the hair at her nape. His kiss was filled with hunger and yearning, the latter as overpowering as this new path they embarked upon.

Her bandaged right hand rested against the base of his spine, and she cursed herself for her earlier misstep with the pot cover because it kept her from touching him the way she wished. It didn’t, however, keep her left hand from slipping under the hem of his shirt. She ran her hand along the muscles of his belly and chest before slipping around to trace the muscles along his spine.

He twitched when her nails grazed his ribs. “No tickling, my love,” he whispered against her lips. He leaned back, smiling down into her eyes. He tugged her plait. “Let me?”

“Please, Ross,” she said, brushing her lips against his. “I daresay you’ll have to help me with a number of things tonight.” She rubbed the back of her bandaged hand against his chest.

He gently captured it and brought it to his lips, kissing the green calico. “It will be my pleasure, darling,” he murmured, draping the end of her plait over her shoulder and working on the scrap of ribbon she used to tie it. “Do you think you can manage the buttons on my shirt while I tend to this? My hands are a little busy.” His eyes were alight with wicked heat. She arched her brow and popped one of the wooden buttons free. “Very good, my dear.”

“You tease me, husband,” she said airily, flicking another button free. “If I run into trouble, I shall just have to tear the shirt off of you.”

His eyes met hers and darkened. “I’d ask you to, if this wasn’t my last decent one.” His mouth captured hers in a hard, quick kiss before he continued his task. Demelza’s breathing stuttered as her fingers fumbled with the third to the last button. “At last!” He tossed the scrap over his shoulder, cupped her head in his hands and kissed her again. She sighed under the onslaught, his fingers raking through her waving hair, massaging her scalp until she moaned. She stepped closer and pinned her injured hand between their bodies.

“Judas!” The curse was muffled as she tore her mouth from his, cradling the now-throbbing appendage against her chest.

“I’m sorry, love,” Ross said. “Let me look.”

She shook her head. “It will be fine in a moment, honestly.” She glared down at the thing before lifting her gaze to his. His lips twitched and her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare laugh, Ross Poldark.”

“I won’t, I won’t, promise,” he offered. “I think, perhaps, you should let me finish here.” His fingers managed the remaining buttons with aplomb. He quickly shrugged the shirt off and Demelza’s mood lifted as it always did whenever she could look upon her husband’s torso, strong shoulders and arms, muscular chest narrowing to his lean abdomen. Her eyes followed the dark trail of hair that disappeared into waistband of his trousers. They rode low, the braces dangling on either side of his hips. “You like what you see, my dear?”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, smiling and flickering with mischief. She blushed. “You know I do.”

“You have me at a bit of a disadvantage,” he said, brushing her lips with his. “Let me help you out of those clothes, darling.” He lifted the chain of her watch over her head and tucked it in his pocket before slipping the buttons of her blue gingham dress. He brushed his knuckles against her collarbones, along the edge of her shift. He untied the yellow ribbon at its center, his fingertips dipping into the garment as it scooped low, revealing her cleavage. He gathered the skirts of the dress in his hands, drawing it up to her waist and over her head. He was careful as he slipped her bandaged hand through the narrow cuff with more patience than she thought possible, given how fast the pulse beat in his throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed in admiration. Her hand touched his chest, her thumb grazing his nipple. She kissed it as it pebbled under her touch, pleased by the sharp intake of breath that filled his chest like a bellows. The anticipation swelled within her, the flesh between her thighs growing heavy and slick. “Please.”

The light of humor faded from his eyes as he head descended to capture her mouth with his. Lush and decadent, their tongues mated and stroked as his fingers released the buttons at the waist of her skirts so it could puddle at her feet. “Turn for me.” His voice was hoarse, insistent. She did as he bade her, and he made short work of her laces and petticoats. The latter had barely joined her skirts on the floor before he gathered her against him, taking her mouth, his hands cupping her low, pulling her tight against him. The hard ridge of his arousal notched against her mound and she circled her hips, his answering, making her moan.

He eased back and met her eyes, as green as the forests that surrounded them. “I want nothing between us tonight, Demelza. May I?” He motioned to her shift, drawing the garment up and off of her at her consent. He stopped, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, at long last. “You are the beautiful one, my dear.”

“Let us be beautiful together, Ross,” she urged him, stepping from his embrace to kneel on their pallet. “Your boots. Hurry.”

He nodded, sitting on a crate to pull them free, his eyes never leaving hers. “There not a day that goes by where I don’t think of how lovely you are at moments like these.” He smiled, dropping one boot to the floor. “In this light, your hair is the color of the bourbon we shared earlier: dark and wicked.”

“You’re the wicked one, love,” she murmured, “always tempting me in those buckskins.” She’d loved the trousers the first time she’d seen him in them. Only three days married and about to experience their first parting, she’d been struck dumb by the masculine splendor he’d been, and he was _hers_. Nearly six months later, they’d darkened with wear, becoming sculpted to his body. The leather strained at his crotch, the ridge of his cock outlined as if awaiting her touch.

She licked her lips and he groaned, dropping the second boot. “God, what you do to me.” He stood, his hands moving jerkily to his belt. The clink of the buckle and the hiss as the leather snaked through the belt loops. She pressed her thighs together to try to keep from squirming. Buttons free, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of trousers and breeches and shoved them down his legs.

She reached for him, to run her fingertips along the evidence of his need for her, her lips and tongue followed their path. “Oh God,” he moaned, guttural and desperate. The muscles of his buttocks hollowed beneath her hand as his hips thrust closer in response. He tasted of salt and sweat, leather and smoke. His fingers threaded through her hair when she took him into her mouth, savoring the texture and heat of him. The foreskin moved sinuously over his cock as she stroked him with her lips, her tongue lapping the pearls of semen that seeped through the slit.

“I can’t,” he gasped. He drew back, and she released his cock with a slight pop, brushing a kiss at the root and nuzzled the forest of thick, black hair surrounding it. He lifted her chin with his fingers, joining her where she knelt on the buffalo robes. “I want… God, so much, but please, let me love you.” He kissed her, his hands frantic against her. She relaxed, delighting in the press of his hands against her shoulders as they lay back onto their pallet. He suckled at her breast, the pull of his mouth on her nipple sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. The rasp of his cheek against her skin was delicious as he moved from breast to the other.

His hand slipped down her abdomen until he grazed over the russet curls at the apex of her thighs and cupped her mound. “Ross,” she said, throatily. She bucked hard against his caress as his fingers slid between the slick folds of her sex, brushing and nudging her clit, She rocked against his caress, the tip of his middle finger dipping into the depths of her quim, teasing her with what was to come. He slid one thigh between hers, his touch as urgent as her response. “Please.”

He covered her, his arms wrapping under her shoulders as his hips drove forward. They lay still as he sank home, deep within her, looking into one another’s eyes. In this moment, they loved as they had done since their wedding night, filled with passion and desire, needs as primal as those of generations past. Tonight, as he began to move within her, they came together as lovers, friends, husband and wife with the intent of creating something new, of both of them.

The profundity of the moment struck Demelza as her husband raised his head to look at her. “I love you, Demelza,” he rasped.

“I love you too, Ross,” she wept. He kissed the tears that traced down her cheek. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in tight against her with her heels. They moved together, fast, then slow, hips undulating against each other’s until the need became too great. Her eyes met his as the moment drew near. “Now, please,” she whispered, pressing kisses along his jaw.

“Yes,” he hissed as his head nestled against hers. She closed her eyes and fell, gasping at the intensity of her release when his began. He cried out, thrusting deep within her, quaking as he filled her with his seed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you who have hung in there with me this long -- you can't begin to know how much it means to me. Thanks to rainpuddle13 for her cheerleading and beta reading, helping to keep me on the path forward.


	8. The Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

The sun neared its apex in the sky. Ross knew they’d have to push the animals hard to make it to the camp outside of Union Ridge, despite the fact that it was only fifteen miles away, half the distance they’d be able to cover on the prairies. He’d done what he could to take his time breaking down the camp, and had been on the receiving end of several glowers from Graves, each more dour than the last. But each was worth seeing the sight that lay just beyond the other side of their wagon: his wife Demelza spending the last few hours with her dearest friend before a half-year separation in a new land. The two women had been tucked away at the back of the MacGowan wagon, sharing last minute conversations and cooing over baby Addie, who seemed to grow like a weed. There were moments when he would see them from the corner of his eye, Demelza’s ginger head close to the baby’s, and he could easily picture her with a child of their own.

If there were one positive thing about their leave-taking, it was that he and his wife found themselves more closely bonded than ever before. They’d come together last night in the realization that they would soon be truly on their own, in the wilderness without the company of those they’d grown to love so deeply; the four of them working to carve out their new home, with the hopes of a fifth to join them in the summer.

If someone were to have approached him a year ago and told him he would be a happily married man on the verge of starting a family he would have laughed himself hoarse. But here he was, married to a woman who made him laugh, cry, rage, and love. He likened the journey to a crucible of sorts, with all of the challenges they’d encountered along the way heating them to their core to make them stronger. They would need that strength as they made the final push towards their new home.

GC’s laugh from near the MacGowan’s wagon nudged Ross back to the present and he looked to see the boy had clambered up to join the ladies, peering at the baby while he lightly stroked her curly red hair with one finger. He tightened the last ropes securing the barrel of corn meal onto the wagon and walked over to join them. “She’s awfully small, isn’t she, my lad?”

GC looked up to beam at his uncle. “I thought Mr and Mrs Sheehan’s little girl, Si...Si…”

“Siobhan,” Demelza finished for him.

The boy grinned. “I thought she was the smallest person I would ever see. Addie’s not small, she’s wee, like Uncle Richard says,” he marveled. “But for someone so small she sure can make a lot of noise!”

“She surprised me, too, GC,” Helen chuckled. Ross was glad to see her up and about. “Would you like to hold her?”

GC’s raised wide, apprehensive eyes, first to Helen and then to Ross and Demelza.  Ross’s eyes flashed over Helen. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“We’ll make sure nothing happens to her,” Demelza said, reassuringly. What occurred next was something he hoped to remember for the rest of his life: Demelza drawing the boy  down to sit in her lap before Helen gently lowered the sleeping lass into the boy’s waiting arms. GC’s mouth formed a perfect “o” of surprise and awe as the little girl opened her eyes and stared up at this new face. Ross touched the back of the lad’s head before he looked at his wife. 

Tears sparkled on her lashes. No words were needed.

 

Thirty minutes later, and the inevitable could no longer be put off. “Ross!” He turned to see Richard, accompanied by Zeke Jackson, approaching. “A word with you, please?”

“Of course, Richard,” he said, setting his gloves aside. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

He held out a sealed envelope. “Can I ask you to stop in Tenino on your way up north, and give this to my brother, Arthur?” Richard asked, his voice gruff. “Just to let him know that we are close. We haven’t had a chance to exchange any letters since leaving Scotland, so I…”

“You needn’t say anything else.” Ross accepted the letter and squeezed the big Scot’s shoulder with his hand. He looked at Zeke, tucking the letter in his waistcoat. “You take care of these folks for me, won’t you?”

“Absolutely, Ross. You’ve been an exemplary leader for us the last six months.” Zeke extended his hand which Ross clasped and held. “It’s been a pleasure riding with you. Now, you make sure you come by to see me and Onacona whenever you all come down from Bush Prairie to visit these folks, you hear?”

“We will, I promise,” Ross said, his throat tight with emotion. Zeke tipped his hat to him and headed back over to where he and his wife had set up their rig for their two week stay. He coughed. “I was sorry to hear about little Malcolm Jackson.” Ross had received word the Jacksons would also remain behind in Vancouver due to illness.

Richard nodded. “Poor laddie’s come down with scarlet fever.”

“Dear God,” Ross breathed. “What about Abigail?” Abigail was the Jackson’s twelve-year-old daughter, a pretty girl with wide, light brown eyes that reminded Ross of those of a cat. She’d taken to hanging near the Poldark campfire, particularly if Drake was nearby. When asked about it, the lad had blushed to the roots of his hair. 

“So far, there’s no sign that she’s contracted it from her brother, but they’ve quarantined the boy in a room of the hospital until they are certain he is past the worst of it.” 

Ross raised his eyes in concern. “Will Helen be safe?”

Richard nodded. “Yes, I’m certain of it. The Sisters are very familiar with caring for those with highly contagious illnesses, so they’ve set up a separate house where they are able to seclude those still in the dangerous stages of diseases.” He smiled. “You can rest assured I had a long conversation with them about it.” Ross snorted. Richard’s vocal distrust of Catholics had been fodder for several discussions around the bourbon barrel in the days leading up to the decision to seek the nun’s assistance for Helen. “So,” the Scot said. “Time to go?”

Ross blew out a breath of frustration, but nodded all the same. The two men embraced for several moments, their hands thumping on one another’s backs. “I’ll miss you, Richard.”

“Aye, me too,  _ a chara. _ ” They stood back, none too surprised to see the glistening of unshed tears in one another’s eyes. “We’ll head over to the mission after you all head out. Helen’s made me promise to be there to wave you from town.”

 

And so they did, the MacGowans, the Jacksons, the Daniels and the Ellingstons, all gathered by the road  as the Poldark-Carnes, the Wainwrights, Dwight Enys, his friend Paul Franklin, Caroline Penvenen and the Robinsons lined up to head north from Vancouver. Ross stood near them, Seamus’s reins held by Glenn, as he gave them all one last hug. “You are certain about the kittens?” he asked. Geoffrey Charles and Drake had given the MacGowans two of Jezebel’s kittens -- both female, who Glenn promptly named Heather and Thistle -- as a farewell gift.

“Oh, we’ll cherish them, Ross,” Helen said, smiling through her tears. “We’d thought to ask for one before, to keep us company, you see. We’ll think of you all every time we see them.”

Ross looked at her sweet face, brushed the tears from her cheek and kissed it. “We will see you all as soon as the roads are passable in the spring.” He shook Richard’s hand, and then Glenn’s before taking the reins and swinging up onto the horse’s broad back. He looked at the back of his wagon to see Demelza waving with one hand, the other holding her kerchief over her mouth. He swallowed heavily, turned and rode towards the head of the train. “Ho! Wagon’s ho!” he shouted hoarsely, dashing the wetness from his face with a rough swipe of his hand.

Thirty minutes later, Ross trotted back to the pale blue wagon. “Demelza?” he called.

“Leave me be, Ross,” she croaked from inside the canvas enclosure. “I just need to be alone for a little while, please.”

All he wanted to do was climb in the back of the wagon with her, but that was impossible at the moment. “Do you want me to take GC with me for a while?” It was something they’d done quite frequently during their travels. This day, however, GC had been decidedly somber and petulant. He’d gone missing an hour before they’d been scheduled to leave, resulting in great annoyance from Drake, who was tasked in locating the boy. He’d been found twenty minutes later, covered in dust and burrs that needed to be tended to and required Demelza to cut short her visit with Helen and the baby. Needless to say, she’d been in a temper about it ever since. 

She poked her head out. “Oh, my poor darling,” Ross murmured. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red and swollen from crying. “Let me take the boy so you can rest. We’ll take a break to water the animals in another couple of hours.”

“Thank you, Ross,” she said, her shoulders sagging with relief. “Honestly, I don’t think I can manage him and his mood today.”

“I understand, love,” he said. “Drake, stop the wagon!” he called out, his voice carrying through the trees that towered overhead. “I’m taking GC for an hour.”

They made the exchange with ease, Ross settling the boy in front of him on the saddle. There were still burrs in his musty-smelling hair, but they would keep until his bath that night. Inexplicably, the scent of wet dog wafted past Ross’s nostrils. “Why are you being so fractious today, boy?” Ross asked. GC jerked his shoulder, a gesture he’d clearly learned from his cousin-in-law, and one Ross didn’t appreciate one bit at that particular moment. “Speak up.”

“I dunno,” GC muttered.

“Of course you know, lad,” Ross coaxed. “It’s been a sad day, leaving so many of the friends we’ve made during our journey, hasn’t it?”

He nodded, leaning back against Ross’s chest. Moments later, he could feel the boy’s body shake from crying. He reined Seamus to a halt. “Geoffrey Charles, whatever is the matter?”

“Uncle Ross, I lost Garrick!”

Ross blinked, thoroughly confused. “Who in the world is Garrick?”

“I f-found him, wandering near the r-river two days ago,” the lad wept, his hands muffling his words. “He’s only a p-p-puppy, and I was feeding h-him and playing with him.” 

GC looked up at his uncle, blue eyes filled with tears and beginning to chip away at Ross’s annoyance.  _ The damn boy could get away with murder, _ Ross thought. “But you said you lost him?” _ Hope springs eternal. _

He nodded. “I couldn’t find him, anywhere I looked.”

“Well, he probably went back to the people who owned him, lad,” Ross said, softly. “I’m sure they missed him while you were taking care of him.”

“But no one did, Uncle Ross! I asked, and asked, and asked!” His voice had crescendoed into a wailing cry that made Ross close his eyes and Seamus shift nervously. He nudged the horse forward. They would need to do a bit of cantering to catch up. Just as they started forward, a dog’s bark could be heard in the distance. The boy froze. “Garrick,” he whispered first before shrieking. “Garrick! Garrick! Come on, boy!” 

Ross begrudgingly turned in the saddle to see a scraggly, brown and black mongrel of indeterminate breed loping up the road behind him. GC wriggled so hard, it required all his strength to keep the lad from leaping down from the skittish horse.

Just then, the wind shifted. “Judas!” he gagged, the overpowering stink of skunk rolling through the air. He gathered the reins and dug in his spurs. “Hold on, boy!’ They set off at a gallop, hoping to outstrip the dog’s stamina in the chase.

“Uncle Ross, wait for him!” GC cried.

“Not if my life depended on it,” he vowed, “and hold still! You’ll get us both killed!” Ross spared a glance behind him to see the dog galloping along behind them, tongue waving like a flag. 

They reached the wagon train in minutes. Seamus was lathered and breathing hard as they slowed. Ross looked back, thrilled to see a clear road behind them.

“What is the matter, Ross?” Demelza asked, her eyes widened with fright. “One moment you’re having a little chat with Geoffrey Charles and the next you’re here, riding up as if you’d seen a ghost or...someth-- Judas, what is that smell?”

Ross’s head whipped around to see the mutt, panting like a bellows and gazing up lovingly into the lad’s eyes. “Well, shit.”

“Language, Ross,” Demelza said, pinching her nose at the stench. “Where did...  _ that _ come from?”

Ross dug his kerchief from his pocket, wiping his stinging eyes. “Apparently, your stepson befriended the beast in Vancouver.” He balled the kerchief in his hand and held it to his nose. “Sneaking him food and playing with him while we were there.”

“Geoffrey Charles!” Demelza scolded, coughing. 

Just at that moment, Graves rode back to their position. “What the devil is the hold up, Captain Poldark?” His eyes widened as he noticed the dog. “Where did that dog com--” Ordinarily, the way the Scot’s expression changed from frustration to sheer horror as the scent of skunked hound struck him would have made Ross laugh.  _ That _ would require breathing.  Graves gagged, leaned over the side of his mount and dry heaved. “Jesus wept!” he rasped.

“Graves, do you know if this creature belonged to anyone back in Vancouver?” Ross asked.  _ Please, sweet God, say yes.  _ “We’re less than an hour out of town so, if need be, we can head back to return him to his rightful owner.”

“No!” GC cried, squirming once again to reach the dog. 

Ross had had it. Too many emotions, colliding one atop the other. He turned the boy in his arms and gave him a small shake. “You will stop wriggling right this minute, Geoffrey Charles,” he commanded.

Something in his tone must have impressed upon the child of the ragged state of his uncle’s temper. Graves took another look at the dog, his eyes widening with apparent recognition. “Nay, Captain Poldark. It was a dog owned by a miner who’d come through here about a month ago. Died of consumption, apparently, over at the hospital. Sister Saint Vincent said they’d tried to see if anyone wished to claim him afterwards, but they’d had to turn him out of the mission. Had been living on the outskirts ever since.”

“He  _ can _ stay with us, can’t he?” GC begged. He swiveled to look at Demelza. “Please, Mama?”

“No!” Ross wheezed. “For Christ’s sake, he smells like death warmed over!” He looked at his wife, fearing the lad’s pleading was doing its work on her resolve. She shifted her gaze to her husband. Her beautiful eyes were still sad and puffy from the morning’s farewells. Sad, but softening under the blue-eyed onslaught of the little imp sitting in front of him. He stiffened his back. “No. No, no, no!”

“Well,” Graves said, contemplatively. “I  _ have _ heard you can use apple cider vinegar and tomato juice to get rid of the odor.” 

Ross glared at the trailmaster. “You. Are.  _ Not. _ Helping, man” he hissed.

“Alright!” Demelza shouted. She narrowed her eyes at her stepson. “‘Tis a lucky thing for you that I purchased some tomatoes while we were in camp, young man.” She looked at Ross. “And I was going to make us a nice stew with them, too,” she whined.

“ _ You _ offered them, Demelza.” Ross glowered at GC, who was doing his best to leap off the horse. “And you, boy, will  _ not _ touch that animal until it is completely clean, do you understand?” 

Geoffrey Charles nodded and flung his arms around his uncle’s neck. “I love you, Uncle Ross.”

_ Well,  _ Ross thought ruefully to himself, stroking his nephew’s back.  _ At least I’ve made  _ one _ person happy today. It’s a start. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all of you who have offered your kudos and comments for this and my other works. They provide the lift and encouragement that sees me through the rough moments and frustrations in my life. There have been plenty in the last few weeks, so thank you. :-)
> 
> Rainpuddle, once again, thank you for your continued encouragement and arm wrestling when it comes to this and all my stories. It's such a pleasure to work with you!


	9. Vancouver to Tenino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

Richard knelt next to his sleeping wife. He’d convinced her to spend the rest of the time they had before heading to the mission abed, and hadn’t been surprised that both she and Addie had sunk into a deep slumber. She lay on the camp bed Joshua Robinson had designed, which was in desperate need of repair whilst they were in Vancouver, including a broken spring that squeaked loudly whenever she moved. Her sleep had been so sound that afternoon he hadn’t heard the slightest of noises.

The Poldarks’ departure had taken a good deal out of Helen’s reserves that afternoon. She’d done her best to hide the strain, but her pallor – something beyond her control – had given her away. Granted, neither of them had slept well the night before, with the baby waking every hour or so to be fed or changed. Ordinarily, neither of them minded those moments spent with the newest member of their family, but her exhaustion coupled with the emotional toll of their friends leaving had left Helen with few reserves to cope.  It had broken his heart to see her like this, and made him feel powerless to protect her.

Before he’d left, Richard asked Dwight if the depths of her despair over their friend’s departure was abnormal. As it turned out, it was completely in keeping for a woman only weeks after giving birth. Still, it seemed to tear at his waim every time she’d wept.

Wee Addie began to stir in her cradle, a gift to them from the Poldarks that Joshua had worked on in secret during the last few weeks of their travels. He lightly traced the curve of her cheek with his knuckle. She turned in the direction of his touch, her tiny, rosebud lips pursing as if in search of her mother’s breast. “Hush, _a leanbh_ ,” he crooned softly, scooping her up in his arms. The feathery-soft, red hair covering her head had begun to curl, which had pleased him inordinately when he’d noticed it the other day. He harboured a secret wish that his daughter be the spitting image of her mother, in beauty, intelligence and spirit. Helen was one of the strongest women he’d ever met. The way she’d borne the hardships of the last year had humbled him, and he knew he would take a lifetime to show her the gratitude he had for her and her willingness to leave everything she’d ever known to follow him.

He’d known she’d fancied him or – rather – had been told as much, by her brother William a few months after Joan had passed. Richard knew he’d been so besotted with Joan, from the first moment he’d seen her, that he’d barely noticed anyone or anything else around him. It was only when he’d begun to consider offering for Helen that memories from the past had begun to crystallize: the way her eyes had followed him whenever he’d gone to visit the Robertson home; how quickly she came to blush around him. But it was the momentary look of shock and loss that had darkened her blue eyes the day he’d told her he planned to leave for America that had given him hope she’d not refuse his suit.

He’d been late in sharing the depth of his feelings for her, despite the fact he now realized he’d loved her for months before he’d finally scraped together the nerve to tell her. They’d been on the steamer ship the City of Glasgow for almost three weeks. Throughout their time on the ship, Richard had been amazed at how Helen had managed to look as though she’d just stepped into the parlour of their home, regardless of whether the weather had been fit or foul, even if they’d suffered through bouts of seasickness. Whilst others were often haggard and slovenly, her thick, auburn hair was always tidily groomed, and her dress impeccable, the pretty cameo brooch pinned on the crest of her left breast. He’d had several of the men offer him compliments -- a few of them a little too eagerly -- and delighted in the comely blush that would bloom on her cheeks whenever he’d shared one with her.

And the strides she’d made with Glenn were nothing short of miraculous. He’d circled around her like a feral kitten, spitting and hissing at the slightest of slights or the greatest of imaginary offenses. She’d tamed him, moving gently, speaking softly, offering encouragement and ceding space until he’d nudged his stubborn head against her hand. He’d catch them at times, when they retired to their cabin for the night and spent time reading a few of the treasured books they’d brought with them from home. _Gulliver’s Travels_ was a popular favorite, but the one Richard loved the most was a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets he’d purchased for her just before they’d boarded the ship.

_The captain had invited them to dine with him off and on throughout their journey, but had sent them a special invitation to join him on their last night at sea before they reached New York. The weather had been still most of the day, and the night sky promised to be one filled with stars. Glenn and several of the other children had scampered at the bow of the ship, eagerly chattering their excitement for the coming dawn’s discoveries in the New World. Richard and Helen strolled lazily behind them, her small, gloved hand curled around his right bicep. She liked to trace a circle around a scar from a burn she knew he had there, had kissed it on occasion when they’d turned to one another in the night. He’d always look at her when she did, as if it were a secret message shared between the two of them; an acknowledgement of the physical passion they’d had for one another._

_He slowed their pace until they came to a halt. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight when she looked up at him, curious. “Richie? Is something wrong?”_

_“No, lass,” he murmured. “Everything’s right.” And he began to recite:_

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments, love is not love   
Which alters when it alteration finds,   
Or bends with the remover to remove.   
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark   
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;   
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,   
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.   
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks   
Within his bending sickle's compass come,   
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,   
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:   
If this be error and upon me proved,   
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

_“Oh,” she breathed when he finished._

_“I love you, Ellie,” he murmured, cupping her cheeks and drawing her close to kiss her trembling lips. He brushed the tears that fell down her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you on our wedding day.” She shook her head, unable to speak. “I love the way you hum whilst you cook, and the way your forehead wrinkles right there when you concentrate on your stitching.” He kissed the spot, nibbled along her brow. “I love the way you hold me close at night, when we’re alone together and I come inside you, as if you’ll never let me go.” He eased back to look at her, her eyes luminous in starlight. “I should have told you long ago, but I promise you, there will never be a day when I don’t.”_

They’d made love that night, unlike any other night before, with the utmost tenderness and freedom. Or as much freedom as they could afford, given their snug accommodations. Was it sad that he could count the number of times where she’d been in rooms suiting a lady of her stature since that night on the fingers of both of his hands? She deserved so much more than he’d given her, and hoped these two weeks would be the start of a new chapter for them, one where the niceties of civilized life would once again be theirs.

“Richie?” Helen murmured sleepily, lifting him from his musings to find her watching him. “You were so far away.”

He smoothed his hand along her hip. “Aye, I was at that.” He lay their daughter in Helen’s waiting arms. “I suspect she’s hungry.”

“Do we have time before we’re to meet the Sisters?”

“Aye, love,” he said softly. “I wanted to wait until you both were awake before we drove the team over to the mission. Will you be alright back here while we do that?”

“Of course,” she assured him, adjusting the neckline of her shift to free her breast. He stared, as he did anytime she fed Addie. “Richard, it’s as if it were the first time you’ve seen us like this.”

He blinked, his cheeks growing warm. “‘Tis too lovely not to admire, hen, and will be the last time I share this with you for several days.”

“Well, you’ll just have to come and visit us,” she cooed, sighing with contentment and settling against her pillows. He brushed a kiss on her forehead and clambered through the break in the canvas to the wagon seat.

Thirty minutes later, he drew their rig up to the rough picket fence surrounding the mission. “Glenn, hop down and get the gate, will you please?”

“Yes, Da,” his son muttered, his voice listless. _Poor lad,_ Richard thought to himself. He’d lost his first girl and his best friend over the course of a week. Was it any wonder that he’d retreated back to the sullen, grouchy mood that was so reminiscent of his attitude in the early days of his remarriage? Fortunately, the boy had had the decency to keep his chin up around his stepmother and baby sister. That said, if the petulant looks flicked in his father’s direction continued too much longer, a stern conversation would soon be in order.

They brought the wagon to a halt in a field not far from the building that served as the hospital. It was a simple structure, approximately twenty five feet by fifteen feet, but featured glass paned windows and was painted a cheerful yellow. As Richard helped Helen down from the back of the wagon and retrieved their daughter, the door of the hospital opened, revealing a small woman wearing a somber black and white nun’s habit. Her face and hands were the only parts of her body exposed to the late-afternoon sunlight, both appearing to be very pale against the stark white of her wimple. She had a remarkably stern face, one that would never have been described as handsome, with the exception of her eyes, deep set and the colour of a dove’s wing. She nodded in recognition while a second woman, similarly robed, followed. She had a sweet, round face and offered an immediate smile of greeting. They both made their way to the wagon.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur MacGowan.” The older sister had a gruff voice, quite deep and masculine. Richard noticed Helen’s look of bewilderment and squeezed her elbow. “Je suis heureux de vous accueillir et votre famille à notre hôpital.”

“‘Good evening, Monsieur MacGowan,’” the second sister translated in excellent, yet heavily accented English. “‘I am pleased to welcome you and your family to our hospital.’”

“Bienvenue, ma chère fille.” The older nun reached out to touch Helen’s shoulder. “Je suis la Soeur Joseph du Sacré Coeur, Mère de la Maison de la Providence ici à Vancouver.”

The second sister continued her translation. “She says, ‘Good evening, my dear. I am Sister Joseph of the Sacred Heart, Mother of the House of Providence here in Vancouver.’”

Richard nodded. “Mother Joseph is the sister in charge of the hospital.” Helen returned the sister’s nod of greeting, stepping closer against his side at the same time.

Mother Joseph’s eyes shifted to the swaddled bundle in his wife’s arms. Her entire countenance changed, softened into one of bliss. “Oh, une si belle fille, Madame MacGowan. Très belle. Adair est son nom, oui?”

“I am Sister Blandine of the Holy Angels, Madame MacGowan.” Sister Blandine’s voice was melodic and comforting. “Mother remarked that the baby is very beautiful and asks to confirm her name.”

“Adair, yes.” Richard sensed Helen’s tension lessening and was glad of it. “It sounded so lovely when you said it, Mother Joseph!”

Sister Blandine interpreted Helen’s comment and the other sister chuckled. “It is a beautiful name, whether shared in Scottish or our mother tongue. Please.” Sister Blandine held out her hand. “Let us show you in.”

~*~*~*~*~*

“I swear to God that dog will be the death of us, Demelza,” Ross groused.

“What has he done now?” she asked, as she hopped down from the wagon seat. She arched her back in a graceful stretch, her fingers massaging her lower back. She opened her eyes at his silence and caught his lingering gaze on her breasts. “Honestly, Ross,” she drawled, stifling a chuckle at his startled jump. “Drake will think you’re depraved.”

Her husband’s cheeks turned ruddy under his week-old stubble. “Two rooms in the cabin, and that’s final,” he grumbled, glowering at his brother-in-law, who was in the process of leading the oxen to their night resting spot near Scatter Creek. Demelza knew part of her husband’s grouchiness had more to do with the prospect of more rain delays than the antics of their new canine companion or the enforced curtailment of their intimacies.

It had been a week and a half since they’d left Vancouver, arriving in Tenino three days later than they’d hoped. The omnipresent drizzling rain they’d encountered as they made their way north was enough to make the roads hellishly boggy, which slowed both beasts and wagon wheels to a crawl. It was also enough to make setting up camp each night a misery. It took the last of their collective energies to pitch the family tent, and in very close quarters with those belonging to their trailmates. The first few nights had been moot: everyone had fallen asleep as soon as heads hit pillows. The last week, however, had been an exercise in restraint.

The mud had also created a new challenge -- and unintended benefit -- for them and their new dog, Garrick. Despite the mess he managed to make -- his muddy paws had a habit of getting everywhere -- it had helped to disguise the lingering tang of skunk that had enveloped the beast like a death shroud, despite several baths. Demelza was bound and determined to give the animal a long, hot, and thorough scrubbing while they were settled in, and hoped once they’d doused him in another batch of the vinegar solution, the worst of it would be over.

They’d pulled into the sleepy little town just before the skies opened up in a deluge that promised to make for a yet another miserable night’s camping. There was good news for the travellers: one of the farmers had offered his barn for them to use, either for the animals or themselves. The animals would survive a night or two in the rain. The travellers would not.

Drake and Ross were unloading the last of their bedding materials when they heard the slap of running footsteps heading towards the barn door. “Whooee! It’s raining cat’s and dogs out there!” the voice of the young man boomed from under the rain-slickened oilskin coat. A decidedly Scottish voice. He shook the coat free, tossing it onto a bale of hay, grinning expectantly.

“You wouldn’t by any chance be Arthur MacGowan, would you?” Ross’s face split into a smile, the first she’d seen in several days. She set down the pot of beans she’d prepared for the cook fire and joined the two men.

“I am, indeed,” Arthur confirmed, eyeing Ross with suspicion. “Have we met somewhere, sir?”

“No, but I have met your brother, Richard,” he grinned. “Ross Poldark, at your service.”

“Hallelujah!” Arthur whooped. “He’d said he would be on the first train west when he wrote.” He gripped Ross’s hand in a firm, masculine handshake. Demelza always found herself fascinated by this ritual; there were times it looked like they were attempting to break each other’s fingers. “Please, call me Artie.” He cast his eyes around the barn. “Where is he?” The young man’s eyes turned very serious. “D-Don’t tell me something has hap--”

“--Oh no, Artie, nothing as bad as that,” Ross rushed to reassure him. “Your sister-in-law had some difficulties giving birth to their daughter a month ago, so they are spending a couple of weeks in Vancouver to give her time to convalesce.”

Artie blinked, his confusion clearly visible. “My sister-in-law? But I thought Joan was dead.”

“Richard wrote a letter that will explain further,” Ross clarified, rifling through his saddlebag and extracted the sealed envelope. “He remarried before leaving Scotland. To Helen--”

“--Robertson?” the Scot blurted, his eyes widening with pleasant shock.

“Yes,” Demelza chuckled when Ross turned his perplexed gaze to meet hers. “That was her maiden name, sweetheart.”

“Of course, it was,” Ross chuckled. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Demelza.” Her husband beamed at her, and butterflies fluttered around in her throat. Mud caked, scruffy and ripe though he was, the man still had the power to make her nearly swoon with a smile.

“‘Tis a pleasure, ma’am,” Artie declared, removing his hat, revealing thick, waving hair the same colour of his older brother’s, but worn shorter. It curled wildly around his head and framed sparkling, blue eyes that held more mischief than she’d ever seen in Richard’s. “God’s teeth,” he breathed, scratching his head before laughing and smiling broadly. “The lass finally netted him at last!”

“Oh, my!” Demelza covered her cheeks with her hands, caught in a fit of giggles. “I suspect you will have some stories to tell, Artie! I look forward to hearing them.”

“They won’t disappoint, Demelza.” He leaned against several bales of hay. “How is my nephew, wee Glenn? Not so wee anymore, I reckon?”

“Very true,” Demelza confirmed. “He’s a lovely lad.” She stopped for a moment, a vision of Glenn and Drake’s parting hug flitting across her mind. It made her eyes sting. “They’ve all become very dear friends of ours.”

Artie’s hands shook as he took the forgotten letter from Ross. “Tis the first time I’ve heard from him in over a year. Year and a half, I reckon.” He broke the seal. “I can scarce believe it. He’s truly here, and well? I mean, they’re all well?”

“Quite well, despite the recent problems with little Addie’s arrival,” Ross assured him as Arthur scanned the letter. The Scot stopped at the sound of the baby’s name. “Adair Demelza, she is.”

Demelza always blushed furiously whenever the topic of the baby’s hurried christening arose. It was something Helen had insisted upon before the Poldark-Carnes left Vancouver. At first, Richard -- of Church of Scotland extraction -- had balked at having the Catholics perform the ceremony until he’d discovered their only alternative would have been to have an itinerant Episcopal missionary do the honours. Their connection with the Church of England had been an even greater affront to his sensibilities. Ross and Demelza, the designated godparents, had nodded somberly, each biting the inside of their cheeks to keep from laughing at his grumbling. In the end, the priest from the mission came to their campsite an hour before departure to bless little Adair Demelza to the Kingdom of God. Demelza had burst into tears when she’d heard the little one’s name, which had set Helen off, with little Addie turning it into a trio of sobs.

“Why don’t you stay for supper, Artie?” Demelza smiled, once again doing her best to keep from tearing up at the memories.

“I’d love to,” he agreed. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had the pleasure of a woman’s cooking.”

 _Charmer._ Demelza picked up the pot. “Why don’t you two go over by the campfire Joshua’s got going over on the other side of the barn.” She nodded over towards where the Robinsons were settling their tent for the night. “Supper will be ready in about an hour.” Just then, Caroline climbed down out of the wagon. Demelza couldn’t help but notice the way Artie’s eyes widened when he saw the statuesque beauty, dressed in simple blue broadcloth, her golden plait trailing down along the column of her back.

“I think that sounds like a grand idea, Demelza.” His brother’s letter was all but forgotten in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who continues to support this work! We finally get to meet a couple of the sisters from the hospital! It's been fun researching these remarkable women in preparation for writing these chapters. Both Richard and Helen will learn much from them during their two week stay in Vancouver. More on that next chapter. 
> 
> And could it be there is another suitor for Caroline's hand? Dwight better step up his game...Artie's a bit of a charmer. Rainpuddle is responsible for all of you getting to meet Artie. Oh, you would have met him, but he would have been dead if she hadn't talked me out of it. Richard's had enough grief on his hands. Anyhow, more with Artie (and his interaction with Miss Penvenen) next chapter, too.


	10. Tenino to Vancouver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this chapter well over a month ago, and am very happy to have worked through a block so I can share it with you. Hope you like it!

“Dinner was delicious, Mrs Poldark,” Artie MacGowan said, patting his stomach. 

“Demelza, please,” she reminded him for what must have been the third time, and that was just in Ross’s hearing. He was convinced the Scot did it on purpose because of the endearing, little smile of happiness that would cross her face whenever someone referred to her as “Mrs Poldark”. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Artie acknowledged. “Had no idea a person could do such things with plums.” 

Ross arched his brow at his new friend and poked him hard in the ribs. The man was a born flirt. “That was wonderful, my dear,” Ross said, rising to his feet to hand her his plate. 

“Those compliments will get you everywhere, my lover.” She gave him a kiss, then licked her lips. “You taste like plums,” she whispered. Ross had watched her tongue’s movement and growled low in his throat at the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “You go on and relax by the fire. I know you had a frustrating day today.” 

Ross nodded. Earlier he’d walked along the rain-swollen banks of Scatter Creek, poking the muddy waters with a long branch to assess its depths. They’d been in Tenino for two days and, based on his analysis, coupled with the opinions of Artie and some of the other locals, they’d be staying another night, at the very least. He rubbed the back of his neck; worry eddying about in his mind like the leaves swirling past his feet. Each day’s delay meant one fewer day’s time for building their homestead. He’d been about to return to the barn when his heart had lifted at the sight of Demelza’s bright, ginger-haired figure chatting with Artie. He’d traded some of the deer he’d hunted earlier with a local couple for ripe plums and had promptly been invited to share their meal. Ross had truly enjoyed the company of Richard’s younger brother over the last few days and, based on the conversations they’d had since their arrival, held out hope that the acquaintance wouldn’t end when their party left for Bush Prairie. 

Venison stew and plum crumble consumed, the two men settled next to the fire for a final cup of coffee while the camp began its nighttime routine. Ross drew on his pipe, which he’d filled with a bit of the tobacco Demelza had purchased as a surprise for him from a tradesman who’d arrived earlier. He grinned, touching the pocket of his chambray shirt where he’d hidden several cinnamon and peppermint candies he’d purchased from the same tradesman. Ross looked forward to sharing one or two of them with his lovely bride when they turned in for the night.

“That’s quite a grin you’ve got on your face, Ross,” Artie chuckled, rolling a cigarette between his fingers and thumbs.

“Plans and schemes, Artie. Plans and schemes.” Ross arched a brow. “All well-intended, of course.” He held up a lit twig for Artie to light his cigarette. “Listen, I want to thank you for being such a wonderful host for us here these last few days.”

“The pleasure’s been mine,” Artie offered. “It’s been a blessing to hear about Richard and his family after so long.”

“I expect for them to be gearing up to head north within the next three or four days,” Ross mused, a frown creasing his brow, “unless there has been some kind of set back.”

Artie leaned forward, concern clear in his eyes. He handed Ross a small silver flask. “Is that a possibility?”

Ross knew the container held some of Artie’s homemade whisky. He'd admitted his apprehension when the Scot first shared the local hooch he'd managed to make using a still of his own making. That concern disappeared with the first sip. Still a bit raw and needing another year or two of aging, it held great promise. He eagerly accepted. “Well, Dwight doesn’t think so,” Ross said, baring his teeth with a hiss at the liquor’s burn. “Helen was making progress, but it was very slow progress, mainly brought on by the continued push forward towards the Columbia. Now that she’s had some time to do nothing but rest, he thought she should be as right as rain around now.”

“And there’s no chance of your staying until they arrive?”

Ross looked at his new acquaintance. They were around the same age, although Ross felt much older these days. Artie’s Scottish burr was markedly lighter than his brother’s, which made sense given the length of time he’d been from home and surrounded by people speaking so many different tongues. Ross noticed both GC and Drake’s accents had grown more fluid as they’d made their way across the country. A part of him mourned the fading of Cornwall from their laughing voices, but he felt that had more to do with his own sense of homesickness more than anything. 

Ross shook his head, to clear it and respond. “We must press on, Artie. There’s much to do and little time to do it.”

“Well, that’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about,” Artie said. “You know how I’ve told you the business prospects around here have been in a decline for the past year, with all of the newer settlements expanding to the north.” Ross nodded. “I’d considered uprooting from Tenino and moving north myself, except I’ve had no way to alert Richard to the change in  location, what with their emigration west and all.” He blew smoke rings up into the night sky. “To come all this way to find nothing profitable at the end. I would feel terrible.” The Scot ground out his cigarette under the heel of his boot. “You’ve talked of your plans for settling in Bush Prairie. Will you join the existing settlement or look outside of it to set down your roots?”

Ross’s scalp prickled. “More than likely something outside of the established community, but not too far flung. We will need the support of Bush Prairie to get us through our first winter. But I have to admit the appeal of starting something new, a community of my own, is intriguing.” He took another pull on his pipe. “Very intriguing. But I would need others to join me, so we could pool our resources.” He pointed in the direction of the Robinson campsite. “I think I’ve just about got Joshua and his family convinced to join us, unless he wishes to be close to Bush’s property.” He frowned. “But his wife Betsy is expecting their first child around Christmas, so I imagine he’ll opt to be close to Bush’s. And, given the kind of business he wishes to start, it would be better for him to be close to town, to the lumber yard and such.” 

“You know, I spent several hours talking with Joshua about his plans earlier this afternoon,” Artie stated. Joshua Robinson was their resident carpenter, a freedman from Virginia, and fast becoming one of Ross’s good friends. “Bloody astonishing.”

Ross glanced up at the Scot. “You saw his sketchbook, did you? The man’s a genius, I tell you, Artie.” He shook his head. “What makes my blood boil is that if he were white, he’d be sought after to the point where he’d be as rich as Croesus.”

“You can think of it this way,” Artie offered, “their loss is your gain.” 

“True enough,” Ross laughed, knocking the tobacco ash from his pipe and tucking it away in his pocket. He spotted Paul Franklin, Dwight’s friend who joined their party in Vancouver, out walking with Flora Robinson, Joshua’s mother. Ross had noticed the newest member of their party spent a good deal of time traveling alongside the Penvenen wagon, his eye often trained on the lovely quadroon who’d been hired to act as nursemaid to the late Ray Penvenen. When Ross had had a chance to mention his observations to Joshua, he had to hide a smile at the man’s glower. Franklin had a ways to go to earn himself a place in Joshua’s good graces.

_ Well!  _ he thought to himself, looking at the dusky sky of twilight.  _ It  _ is _ a lovely evening, now that we've had a break in the rain. _ He returned his attention to Artie. “In any event, to set up away from town there would be land to clear, housing to build. We’d have to get a winter garden started, shelter for the animals. I’d like to get a smokehouse built so we can preserve as much meat and fish as possible.” Ross’s heartbeat quickened. Surely, it would be too good to be true. “Arthur, why do you ask?”

“I think we should come with you,” he said simply. 

Ross’s heart made a jolt. “Are you serious?”

“Aye,” Artie said. “Richard and I could provide four more hands to prepare for the winter. You just said it yourself: land to clear, shelter to make snug. Second, being up in the Nisqually delta means we’d have more access to business heading north to Seattle. Specifically, ironwork, the likes of which we’d never have call to make here.”

“Seattle.” Ross said, holding up his hand. A sudden memory distracted him from the question at hand. “I heard one of the men at the bathhouse mention there was considerable unrest between the whites and the natives up there, what was it, in January of last year?”  He’d had the family heirlooms sent by boat from New York to Seattle and hoped to go up in the spring to bring it south. The thought of traveling to a warzone was unpleasant, to say the least. 

“Yep, the Battle of Seattle, it was called,” Artie said, “but was only part of an ongoing war between several of the native tribes, including those that live around here.”

“Is the unrest here locally as bad?” Ross asked, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. 

“Not so much here, but it is more prevalent the nearer you get to Olympia and the Nisqually valley,” Artie advised. “It's a concern I've had ever since you arrived.”

“And you would consider not only moving yourself, but your brother’s family closer to danger?” Ross challenged. They’d managed to avoid direct confrontations with the natives on the trail, but had seen evidence of some of the ugliness that had occurred. 

“Ross, I've seen you with people, all kinds since you've been in Tenino,” Artie said. “You are fair, just, and respectful to the natives who come to town. And they've noticed, too. I don't doubt you will be a good neighbor to them when the time comes.” He paused. “There's another reason for us to join you. We’d provide two more men to help protect the community, should the need arise.”

Ross stood, refilling his pipe and lighting it with another twig. He could picture the expressions on Demelza, GC, and Drake’s faces should this idea come to fruition. “You mustn't jest about this, Arthur,” he said warily, pacing as he tamped down the excitement building within him at the prospect of the MacGowans becoming a part of their new community. “You know your brother and his family have become very dear to all of us over the course of our journey west. They are part of our family. Leaving them behind in Vancouver was one of the most difficult things any of us have done.”

Artie poked at the glowing coals from the campfire with a stick. “Anyone hearing you speak of them would know that, Ross.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “I think it’s the best thing for all involved, your family and mine.”

Ross stared at the grinning fool for several seconds before his own face split into a smile. He clasped Artie’s hand, yanking him into a bear hug. A few back-pounding moments later, the men eased apart. “What do you propose to do?”

“I’ll ride out to Vancouver at first light,” Artie said.

“And travel alone?” Ross didn’t like the sound of that.

The Scot’s cheeks grew ruddy. “I made some inquiries earlier today, on the off chance you’d agree with my proposal.”

Ross snorted. “Did you now?”

Artie nodded. “Couple of the traders need to head south to Vancouver. We’ll swing back by here to gather some of my things before we head north.” He looked in the direction of the small house he'd lived in since his arrival five years ago. “May I impose upon you to take my tools with you? I’d rather not leave them here unprotected.”

“Let’s go take a look to see how much we can manage.” Ross grinned. “You have turned what was a frustrating day into a gift. Welcome to the Poldark Party, Arthur.” 

In the end, it was agreed that Arthur MacGowan would head out the following day to Vancouver to take Ross’s formal proposal to Richard. The two men hauled all of the tools, kitchenware, and bedding over to the large wagon. An hour of artful rearranging and they were finished.  Later that night, Ross shared the news with Demelza. 

“I’ve a surprise for you, my love,” Ross whispered as he slipped under their bedclothes to gather his wife in his arms. 

“What might that be,” Demelza responded, nuzzling her nose against his neck, “besides the fact that you’ve been to the barber this evening?”

He chuckled. “Thought you’d like that.” He’d liked it himself, if the truth were known. It had been the first chance he’d been able to avail himself to a hot water bath and shave in weeks. “But no. This is something else. Something I think will make you happier than you’ve been for weeks.”

Her eyes sparkled up at his. “Tell me!”

He kissed her, simply couldn’t help himself but to capture her soft lips with his own, to taste the milky tea she’d had before bed, to caress the supple curves of her body through her nightdress. He drew back to watch her face as he told her of Artie’s plans. Just as he’d anticipated, her eyes widened with joy before she flung herself against him, her muffled tears of happiness dampening his chest. “Hush, my dear one,” he murmured, cradling her against him as he stroked her back.

“Ross, this is the most wonderful news,” she sighed, using the sleeve of her nightdress to dry his chest. He chuckled, drawing her close for a lazy, happy kiss. After a time, she propped her head on her hand to look down into his eyes. “I wonder if his decision has anything to do with Caroline.”

“What?” Ross yawned. “Caroline?”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed contentedly. “He asked me several questions about her earlier in the day.”

A knowing grin crossed Ross’s face. “So,  _ that’s  _ the way the wind blows.”

She giggled. “He was smitten with her the moment he saw her that first night in camp.” Demelza ran her fingers along his cheek and jawline, something he knew she liked to do after he’d shaved. 

He purred at her caress. “What did you tell him?”

She rolled onto her back. “Oh, that she has been in mourning for her uncle. He was surprised she didn’t go back to England after Ray died, but was impressed when I told him she felt she’d have more of a chance to be her own woman here instead.”

It was his turn to prop his head on his hand to arch a look down into her eyes. “Did you mention the fact that she’s supposed to be betrothed to...what’s his name again?”

“Unwin Trevaunance,” she filled in. “And no, I did not.”

He managed to squelch his guffaw with a cough. “You haven’t even met the man and you’ve already determined he’s not the one for her.”

“Well, she has been spending quite a bit of time with Dwight,” Demelza observed. “I know they got off on the wrong foot, right from the beginning, but it has been nice to see that friendship develop.” It had been a slow-burning thing, as they made their way across the country. Dwight had spent a considerable amount of time tending to Ray Penvenen as his health declined, and it was not uncommon to see their two blond heads bent together in conversation.

“Precisely how far do you think this friendship has developed?” he asked, scrabbling back into his memories to see if he could answer his own question.

“Ross!” she exclaimed, making him jerk his attention back to the present. “Caroline is a proper lady. She’d never allow for...for...well, you know.” 

This time he laughed, heartily enough to cause Drake to raise his head. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Drake,” Demelza hissed. “Go back to sleep.” They waited several moments before continuing the conversation. “As I was  _ trying _ to say, I doubt if it’s gone any further than hand holding.”

“Dwight must be losing his touch,” Ross whispered, earning him a pinch. “I’m only teasing, my dear. Caroline is unlike any other woman he’s ever pursued, and despite his rather checkered past, he was raised a gentleman.” He brushed a kiss on her lips. “He would never do anything untoward.”

Demelza nodded. “All that said, I don’t think it would hurt for Dwight to have a little competition.”

“He’ll have plenty of competition, regardless of whether Artie joins us in Nisqually or not. She is a beautiful woman of means in a land where marriageable women are as rare as diamonds.” A featherstroke of worry teased along his spine. He shook off its chill and gathered his wife in his arms. “But enough of this. You are pleased with the news about Richard, Helen, and the children, yes?”

She snuggled against him. “Over the moon, Ross.” She frowned. “We shouldn’t tell the boys until we know for certain that it’s going to happen.”

“That will mean keeping quiet until we are reunited, and that might not be for a month yet,” Ross cautioned. “That will be a challenge for both of us. But come now. We can ponder this later.” He pulled out the bag of candies from under his pillow, popping a piece into his mouth. “Time for a taste, cinnamon girl.”

She pressed her hand against his chest. “But only a taste tonight,” she whispered, her eyes turning troubled.

He paused, confused for a moment before he sensed the cause of her distress. “Oh, Demelza.” His disappointment was mirrored in her eyes, not only because their opportunity for lovemaking had been curtailed. It signaled the end of the secret hopes they’d shared with no one else about adding to their family, at least for the moment. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured. “Don’t cry.” His thumb swept her cheek, catching the tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. “‘Twas only our first time trying. We’ve many more chances to come.” He kissed her, drawing her close until her body relaxed against his side, “Let's get some sleep, now. Things will be better in the morning.” 

She sighed, her head nestling against his shoulder. “Good night, Ross.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Ah, Madame MacGowan, everything appears to be progressing along, as expected,” Sister Blandine said, settling her stethoscope into her medical kit.

“Oh, that is indeed good to hear, Sister,” Helen said, smiling as she looked down at her daughter in her cradle. 

“She’s feeding well and I think she’s beginning to recognize my voice.” 

“Oui, bien suir, Madame,” Sister Blandine agreed. Helen had a quick mind when it came to languages, and had picked up a quite a few French words during their stay. “She is such a… er...magnifique petite fille.” Addie was a delightful child, pudgy-cheeked with sparkling eyes that gazed unfocused at the world and a grin that reminded Helen of her husband, Richard. That could be wishful thinking on her part -- the baby was only six weeks old -- but she considered herself to be a bit biased when it came to his gentle smiles. 

Sister Blandine and Mother Joseph had been exceedingly happy with the progress their patient had made in her recuperation. Helen had to admit -- still a bit begrudgingly -- the rest and calm of the last twelve days had been precisely what she’d needed. She was able to be up and about for longer and longer periods of time without returning to her cot to collapse in an exhausted heap. She was also able to engage with Richard and Glenn during their visits with her without feeling strained from having to hide her discomfort from them. All of the masquerading she’d done since Addie’s birth had taken more of a toll out of her physical and mental reserves than she’d thought. 

She was also able to appreciate all of the things the two men in her life were doing during their time in Vancouver. Richard spent several hours a day meeting with the men in town to discuss life in the Pacific Northwest. He’d also been able to hang his shingle, temporarily, at the smithy’s across the way from the mission, and was earning steady coin for his work. Glenn would often come and sit with Helen and the baby several times during the day, and he was becoming quite an expert in changing clouts without complaint.

“Sister Blandine?”

The nun looked up from the baby. “Yes, madame?”

“Do you, by any chance, have a bathing tub?” Helen asked.

“Now, why are you asking about that, madame?” Sister Blandine said, a smile curling the side of her mouth. “You are eager to stretch your legs, maintenant?”

“Well, you did say that if my progress by today was good I could have a real bath.” She sighed. “You have no idea how long it has been since I sat in a bathtub.”

The nun laughed. “Oui, madame,” she nodded, “today is the day. I have only to ask when you would like to do this and we’ll bring the tub in.” 

“Now would be lovely, but I’d like to do it just before tea” Helen said. Today was the first time she was going to fully dress since Addie’s birth. Well, she amended to herself, she was going to try to do so. She’d noticed that she was losing some of the weight she’d gained during her pregnancy, enough -- perhaps -- to allow her to try on the new dress Demelza had given her as a parting gift. It was a lovely dark red calico she’d found when they were in Laramie. Demelza had taken one of Helen’s old dresses and used it as a pattern for the new, with some adjustments to allow Helen to nurse when needed. Besides, she had had grown thoroughly sick and tired of her nightrails and robes and was desperate for Richard to see her, not as an invalid, but once again as his wife. 

“Ah, a surprise for Monsieur MacGowan, oui?” Sister Blandine grinned. Helen nodded. Richard would always come to share their afternoon tea together. “I will see to the arrangements, madame.” 

An hour later, Sister Blandine had brought in a tin hip tub, with four of the orphaned lads following her with large buckets of warm water. “It is best that the water is only a little warm, madame. The tear has healed well, but we should remain cautious.”

“I will be very careful, I promise,” Helen said, gathering her things. 

Moments later, Helen eased into the tub and had to bite back a moan of pleasure as the water covered her to her waist. She began to sponge the warm water over her shoulders and breasts. Pearly droplets of milk, drawn from her florid nipples, splashed and dissipated into the water. She’d hated her breasts from the moment they’d begun to develop, so large and drawing the worst attention. That was until she’d married a man who celebrated the curves she’d abhorred for so many years. In doing so, he’d helped her to begin to see the beauty in her figure, through the love she’d seen shining from his eyes. Now that she was a mother, they'd been transformed before her eyes: the lifeline for her child, reinforcing the ties between them first forged within her womb. Truly, it was a gift to a woman who'd lost hope of ever knowing this, and a gift bestowed by Richard, the love of her life. She fixed Richard and Addie’s faces in her mind, doing her best to seal the past behind her, before applying her sponge to her precious bar of rose soap to finish her bath.

Fifteen minutes later, she’d rinsed and towelled off the water and prepared to complete her toilette. Unfortunately, all of the heartfelt feelings she’d gained during her bath cooled as quickly as her bathwater the moment she slipped into the new dress, only to discover it was still too small across the bust, despite the alterations made in the original pattern.  She swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat as she tugged on the clean, but obviously worn shirtwaist blouse with buttons that strained to close across her bosom. There was no letting it out like the faded and frayed dark green skirt she’d donned. 

When Sister Blandine brought Helen the looking glass she barely recognized the woman staring back at her.  It had been so long since she’d seen a proper reflection of herself that she was shocked to see how much she’d changed after a difficult year of rough travel.  Gone was her once prized, alabaster skin, now golden hued from the sun, the slight dusting of freckles she’d once had now extended across her nose to her cheeks. The dark red hair that framed her face had brightened with lighter streaks of copper when she pulled it back in a neat bun. 

How carelessly she had abandoned all of the lessons she’d learned in finishing school! In truth, how was she, a gently-bred woman of a certain age, supposed to ensure she had a parasol with her at all times when she was out in the middle of the prairie! She remembered Caroline Penvenen had been able to maintain most of her genteel ways, but she hadn’t had the responsibilities of a husband and son to tend to, not to mention having servants to do the day to day chores that took their toll on the rest of the women in their wagon train. 

She edged closer to the glass. Most worrying were the fine lines that that had appeared at the corners of her dark blue eyes, and she blinked back the tears that filled them.  She was no spring chicken, that she knew, but she’d hoped to hold onto what looks she had for at least a little while. Richard was still a handsome man that turned the heads of women everywhere, even with the hint of silver that was just starting to show in his thick, dark brown and ginger beard. She wasn’t ready for him to be tired of her yet. 

“Oh, Addie,” she sighed in despair to the baby asleep in the cot, “your mam is a fright.” She took another look at her bodice. “I fear if I ask the sister to lace me any more tightly I won’t be able to draw a breath.” There wasn’t much else she could do beyond keeping her wrap around her shoulders to hide the fact she was nearly bursting out of her clothing.  She’d been so excited, wanting to show Richie just how much better she was feeling by being up and dressed for tea when he came for his afternoon visit. Now all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and never let him see her again.

“Madame MacGowan? Votre mari est arrivé pour le thé,” Sister Mary of the Precious Blood called, knocking on the bedroom door. “Oh, pardon….er...Mousieur MacGown iz ‘ere for your tea.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Helen called, blotting the tears from her cheeks. She checked on Addie, who slept so peacefully in her cot, before retying her wrap and stepping out into the main room. 

There he was, her handsome, loving husband. She could tell he’d visited the barber near the fort. His hair was loose and flowing in sun streaked waves of golden brown to his shoulders. His eyes sparkled as soon as he’d seen her, the kind, loving smile she’d first seen on their wedding day dimpling one cheek.  _ God, he’s so beautiful _ , she thought to herself.  _ And he’s saddled with an old, dowdy wife. _

“Helen, acushla,” he murmured, drawing her into his arms for a chaste kiss. “It is so good to see you up and about.” He held her at arm’s length. She maintained a death grip on the front of wrap. “You look lovely.”

“Oh, Richard, please,” she snapped, regretting the words the instant they were out of her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered, doing her best to swallow the tears that threatened to choke her. 

“Please what, Helen?” He paused, frowning in confusion and hurt at her tone. “Am I not allowed to offer a compliment to my wife?” She pressed her lips together to stop them trembling. “Come, we’ve a few moments before tea is ready. Let us walk outside for a bit. Some fresh air will do you good.” He cupped her elbow and guided her out into the square.

They walked in awkward silence for a few moments. Helen frantically looked for something to break the tension that had grown between them with each step. “Addie smiled at me this morning after I fed her,” she offered.

“Oh, did she?” Richard turned his head, a grin softening the lines of worry he’d had around his eyes. 

Helen nodded. Her stomach always felt fluttery whenever he smiled at her in just such a way. “Yes. I was changing her and told her her da was coming for a visit. She turned at the sound of my voice and smiled.”

“Mo chroí,” he breathed. He stopped, his warm hands cupping her shoulders. “Will you show me? I know I’ve no hope of her knowing mine, what with our being separated so much the last fortnight.”

“Och, don’t be so sure of that, Richard,” she teased, pleased with this shift to a lighter subject. “I’m certain she heard both of the MacGowan men’s strong brogues while she was cooking.” He laughed, a sound that always made her beam.  _ You should stop that, _ an ugly little voice in her head hissed. _ It will only deepen those lines. _ Thankfully it didn’t appear that he’d noticed her hesitation. “It’s hard to believe it’s been as long as that, Richie,” she murmured. 

“Well, I hope she’ll be awake from her nap for a visit with her da by the time we get back. I’ve missed you both.” 

He brushed a kiss across her lips, soft and sweet, before drawing her hand through the crook of his arm. “Wait!” she cried, scrabbling one-handed for the wrap, which slipped just enough to reveal the straining buttons of her shirtwaist. “Richard, please, help me!” she begged, holding out one hand for her dust-covered shawl, the other covering her exposed flesh. 

“Helen?” Richard asked, confused, “whatever is the ma---.” His words stopped when his eyes dropped to her decolletage. “Oh, a ghrá geal.” 

His voice was pitched low and urgent.  _ Beloved.  _ It was a the term of endearment Richard reserved for the times when they were alone, in the throes of their lovemaking. It stirred her and left her incredulous at the same time. One of the buttons had pinged away at her sudden movement and her breasts were all but naked for the world to view. “Quickly! The sisters mustn't see!”

He picked up the garment, shaking it free from much of the dirt, before settling it around her shoulders. “Let’s go back inside,” he said, brusquely, tying the shawl closed. Helen clutched at the knot with both hands, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I have a feeling I know what is troubling you, but would have you confirm it before I say anything more.” He took hold of her elbow and led her back to the hospital. 

 

“Good day, Monsieur et Madame,” Mother Joseph said as they entered the hospital, startling them both. 

“Good afternoon, Mother,” Helen said. It was rare to see the foundress of the Sisters of Providence’s mission in the building at this time of day. Helen’s eyes flashed towards the door to her room. “Is anything the matter?”

“Oh no, not at all, Madame,” Sister Blandine assured her. “We are here to talk with you about your discharge.”

Helen gaped. “My discharge?” Oh, if ever she needed to hear a piece of good news it was right at that moment.

“Oui, Madame,” Sister Blandine laughed. “I wanted to save the news for when your husband would be here with you.” She paused. “Monsieur MacGowan has expressed his desire to depart for the final stretch of your journey. I have had a chance to discuss your case with Mother, and she is of the opinion that you can be released from hospital with immediate effect. You can do so at your leisure.”

Helen turned to face Richard. “When did you discuss this with them?” 

“I happened to mention it a few days ago. We were coming on the end of the two weeks Dwight had originally stated you would need to convalesce. It would assist me to know when to expect to restock our food supplies.” He ducked his head. “I thought it might be a nice surprise for you, love.”

“Oh, it is! ‘Tis lovely and so welcomed, Richard!” Helen exclaimed. She went to hug her husband but caught herself, her clenched hand the only thing saving her from embarrassing herself and the nun.

“Your tea is ready in your room, Madame,” Sister Blandine offered. “We will come back to see you in a while to discuss your plans.” They nodded before walking towards the open door, closing it with barely a sound. 

“Is it truly possible?” Helen breathed, dropping the wrap and hurling herself into his arms. “That we could finally be home in two weeks time?”

“Aye, lass.” She felt him press a kiss to her hair and she leaned back to look into his eyes. “Glenn and I can be finished restocking the wagon within the next two days. And wee Malcolm Jackson has recovered from his smallpox, so they are eager to be off as well.” He peered down at her, his eyes skittering past hers to focus upon her exposed chest. Helen brought one of her hands up to cover her breasts. “ _ Mo chroí _ , as happy as I am that I’ve cheered the sparkle into your eyes, I canna forget what happened out in the yard earlier.” She’d hoped he’d forgotten, but wasn’t surprised since she’d made such an issue of it. “Can you tell me what’s troubling you?”

She nodded, sadly, stooping to pick up the fallen wrap and following him into the small room she’d called her own for the last fortnight. The moment they opened the door they were both distracted by their daughter, who had stirred as they entered the room. Pretty, sleepy blue eyes stared up uncertainly at the big man hovering over her cot, soon filling with tears. Helen picked her up, soothing Addie with soft murmurs the child clearly recognized as coming from her mother. “I was right: she doesn’t know me,” he muttered, his voice roughened with emotion.

“She will, never worry,” Helen said, some of her worry dissipating as fast as it had sprung into life at the sadness she heard in his soft baritone. “She’s hungry. Why don’t you pour us both some tea while I feed her.”

“May I hold you both?” he asked softly. “I find I need to reassure myself of my place in both of your lives.” Her eyes filled with tears -- they came so easily nowadays -- and watched him settle back against the wall. How could he begin to doubt how much she loved him, how vital a part of her life he’d become in a year’s time?  _ By turning him away and acting like a shrew whenever he asks you the simplest of questions,  _ the ugly little voice hissed once more.  He parted his thighs, welcoming her to nestle back against him. “Can you tell me what is troubling you,  _ a ghrá _ ?”

She glanced back at him, releasing the remaining buttons of her blouse and offered her breast to her daughter. “It’s all very confusing, Richie,” she admitted, leaning her head against his chest. “Can we just be quiet together for a time? Watch our Addie for a moment before we talk?” He nodded, resting his cheek against her hair. 

The only sound in the room came from the baby’s suckling mouth, rhythmic and soothing to them both. When the time came for her to switch over to her other breast, Helen noticed that Richard had fallen asleep. She looked up at him, his face quiet in repose. She loved him so very much, and discovered just how much she’d missed having him by her side in the still of the night. How could she silence the voices from her past long enough to accept the esteem he held her in as being truly hers? And, as Helen’s daughter’s fist pressed against her breast, she began to ponder about it all.

~*~*~*~*~~*

Richard opened his eyes to see the wee, darling face of his baby daughter peering at him over Helen’s shoulder. Addie’s eyes were slightly crossed and unfocused on the furry man staring back at her. Each time he saw her he was struck once again by the perfection of her button nose, her Cupid’s bow lips, and the dark blue eyes he prayed would remain the colour of cornflowers. _ Just like her mother’s, _ he thought to himself. 

He thought of Helen’s eyes, filled with such distress while they’d been walking when her shawl slid from her shoulders. The resiliency he’d come to love and appreciate about his wife seemed to have disappeared, and he believed he knew what troubled her. She had a deep sensitivity about her figure, as he’d discovered during the first several months of their marriage. She’d been shocked and surprised by his response and reverence for her body from the first time they’d lain together on their wedding night. He thought that wariness had diminished over the past year, but since Adair’s birth he’d noticed she’d retreated back to the shy, self-conscious lass she once was.

She couldn’t know how much he’d missed her over the past fortnight, holding her while they slept, cuddling behind her as she fed their babe...looking forward to the time when she could welcome him back as her lover. The mere thought of that reunion caused his body to tighten. “You damn letch,” he softly cursed to himself. 

“You’re awake,” Helen whispered, shifting to rise from the bed. She laid the now-sleeping baby into her cot. “Shall I pour you a cup to tea now, Richard?”

“Aye, thank you,” he said, crossing his legs and adjusting his kilt in the hopes she wouldn’t notice his erection. He watched as she prepared his refreshments, her movements were graceful, elegant and refined, well befitting such a lady. He’d always enjoyed watching her serve tea, going all the way back to their Sunday visits after church. 

She caught him staring and blushed as she brought him the mug of tea and a biscuit. “Richie.”

“Ta, Ellie.” His heart warmed at the sound of her pet name for him. “Can we speak about what happened earlier?” he asked after she’d finished pouring her tea, patting the spot next to him in invitation.

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Can’t we just forget that it happened?” He looked at her over the rim of his mug. “Oh, alright.” She sat next to him, resettling her wrap around her shoulders. “It’s just… Oh, Richard!” Tears filled her eyes, startling him into action. He grabbed their mugs, setting them aside and gathered her in his arms. “I’ve lost some of the weight I gained whilst I carried her, so I’d wanted to surprise you with the new dress Demelza and I worked on for me to wear after Addie’s birth.” 

She sniffled. He dug in his sporran for a handkerchief and handed it to her. “And?” he asked encouragingly. The tears began once again. He stroked her back as she sobbed. “Ellie, you can tell me anything. Please, let me help you.”

“It didn’t fit,” she choked out.

“It’s only been almost six weeks since Addie came,  _ a stor. _ ” Richard wondered if he should mention what he’d noticed when Joan was recovering from Glenn’s birth. He thought better of it. “The weight will go, with a little more time,” he assured her. “I’m grateful that you are doing so much better.”

“But you’re married to a whale,” she moaned, covering her face with her hands.

His sweet, fragile Ellie. He bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t smile. He drew her into his lap, cradling her head against his neck while she wept, thankful that Addie was such a good sleeper. “Nay, lass,” he crooned in her ear. “I’ll not have you speaking of the mother of my child and the love of my life that way.” He stroked her back as her sobs softened, replaced by small hiccups and sniffles. “Now, will you tell me what’s troubling you,  _ Mo chroí _ ?”

“You won’t understand.” Helen glanced at him, blue eyes reddened from her tears but no less beautiful. “You could never understand.”

“Well, we won’t know if you don’t try,” he countered. If he knew anything, he knew his Helen would never back away from a direct challenge. She was stubborn like that.

Sure enough, she set her jaw and uncrossed her arms. “I’m enormous, Richard!” The delicious bounty of her breasts were all but completely exposed. Her nipples had grown longer from nursing and the blue veins that fed them more prominent since Addy’s arrival. All this display made him want to do was trace them with his tongue. His erection was fast returning and she shifted her on his lap. Not soon enough. “Richard!” she squeaked, her eyes round with shock. “How could you even wa---”

He stopped her with a kiss, one borne of love and companionship, but filled with desire as well. He’d be damned if she’d forget what they’d forged between them. "Jesus, Ellie," he cried with exasperation. "You don't know, do you? You dinna have any idea what affect you and your body has upon me? Every time I see you, when you feed her, when you turn in your sleep and your breasts shift under your nightrail, Ellie, the lust I feel for you makes me wonder if I'm some kind of depraved animal.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “To know that if it were not for the healing, the recuperating I know you still require, and will for some time, that I'd have taken you to bed to have you again and again by now?" He kissed her again, lush and reminiscent of the early days of their marriage, when she’d all but opened like a flower under his loving attentions. Her cheeks were flaming red by the time he finished. “I’ll know why you have such a poor opinion of your figure, now, Helen.”

She was silent for a time, then sighed in resignation. “I must go back, several years I think, for you to fully understand.”

“We’ve all the time in the world,  _ acushla _ .”

She swallowed. “I doubt you remember, but after my mam died, my da decided I should be sent to Glasgow, to finishing school.” She was right; he didn’t remember, only noticed that she was gone a few months after the fact. Blinded by Joan, of course. “Well, when I arrived, all of the other girls were...rather unkind to me.”

“What do you mean, unkind?” he asked, feeling his temper begin to steam.

“They were all dressed head to foot in the latest of Parisian fashions,” she continued. “They looked like sleek racing greyhounds compared to me, in my country, homemade clothes.” She looked at him. “And that was before...these arrived.” Her hands tightened on the edges of her blouse. “A full year before most of the others began. I even went so far as to try to bind my chest to conceal them.”

“Oh, Ellie,” he murmured. “That must have hurt you terribly.” He couldn’t imagine the pain she must have been in.

She nodded. “The housemother discovered what I was doing when I fainted after my comportment class,” she said. “It was the combination of the binding and my corset that had become too great to bear. After that, they’d had several shirtwaists especially tailored for me, which forced me to reveal the changes that had happened. They were pretty, in their own way, and I did what I could to embellish them, with embroidery and lace tatting, but they were nothing like the fashions my classmates wore.”

He was picturing his Helen, her hourglass figure so fine in the shirtwaists and skirts she’d worn when they were first married and on their travels to America, wondering how anyone could have found her anything but beautiful beyond compare. “You’ve mentioned these other girls found reasons to tease and taunt you, didn’t you?” She looked at him, surprised, and nodded. “I just bet they wouldn’t have missed an opportunity to do the same. Am I right, Helen?”

“How could you---”

“---I’m no stranger to teasing, Ellie,” he said. “I was always the biggest in my class. And I was teased a time or two. The only difference was I could usually pound them into a pudding. But what kind of defences could you have had?”

“None,” she answered. “None at all. They also teased me about being good at my studies, my needlework, and my mind for figures, too.”

“Sounds like they were a gaggle of envious geese to me, my own,” Richard grumped. She giggled at that, which loosened the tightness he felt in his chest, impotent to do anything about these spectres from her past.

“Those three years in Glasgow represented the worst three years of my life,” she said with finality. “The only thing helping me through to the end was my debut, and my hopes for a suitable marriage. But then…”

“Your da died,” Richard said. It all made sense now. She was sent to live with her Aunt Catherine -- a truly despicable woman if he’d ever known one, but far be it from him to tell Helen that -- a month before her debut and had been in mourning off and on ever since. “Helen, my darling Helen.” He kissed her, stroking her cheek with his thumb, please when he felt her arms slip around his neck, the tension easing from her as she responded fully, as he’d remembered her to do before the baby was born. “Thank you for sharing this with me. It helps me understand a bit more.”

“Truly?” she asked.

“Yes, of course it does.” He paused. “It also makes me realise, once again, how blessed I am to have you as my wife.” She cocked her head, confusion creasing her brow. “That you -- a lady, born and bred -- would agree to take me, a tradesman, as your husband. To follow me out into the wilderness, sight unseen, where it’s been nothing but unrelenting struggle and toil. And to do all of that while carrying and giving birth to my child, too? How could I be anything but blessed, Ellie?” Tears rolled down her cheeks that he kissed away. “We are so very close to the end of our journey. Can you hold on for just a little longer?”

“Aye, I can,” she said, stroking his cheek. He pressed a kiss in her palm. “I’m ready to go.”

He brushed her lips with his. “Then we shall go, tomorrow or the day after, I promise. Can you bear one more night here?” She nodded, shifting off his lap to sit beside him on the bed. “Good. Let’s enjoy our tea, and then I shall go to give Glenn the news and make our arrangements.” They spent the next hour talking of the things Helen wanted to make certain they restocked and playing with wee Addie, who woke a quarter of an hour before Richard had to leave. They shared one last, gentle kiss before Richard gathered his hat and left the hospital.

He took the long route back to the wagon, needing some time to settle his mind around the things Helen had told him. There was a part of him that wished he could go back in time and throttle every single one of the spoilt, envious girls who’d treated her so abominably at such a tender age and time in her life. Thoughts like that could serve no purpose now but to leave him angry. He should be happy that she felt safe enough to share these intimate experiences from her past, because vulnerable moments like that were what would strengthen their already solid marriage. 

He walked along the streets of the town he’d called home for the past two weeks. Vancouver had bustle amidst the roughness of the territory, and there was a part of him that had enjoyed what creature comforts he’d availed himself to during their stay. The luxury of a hot shave and bay rum after so many days of naught. The ease of which they had to access fresh fish and game for their meals, a little tea and coffee to refurbish their stores. Despite this, he was elated to continue towards home, the quiet of country living that he’d missed so much since leaving the glen. He knew Helen would be thrilled to begin to put down fresh roots in their new land, that Glenn would enjoy spending time with the uncle he barely remembered.

His pace slowed, a frown creasing his brow. As excited as he was to reach Tenino, it would have been much sweeter if they’d had their new best friends along with them. Richard had thought of Ross, Demelza, and the boys nearly every day since they parted company. How much he missed the fireside conversations with Ross, seeing Glenn at play or, more than likely, mischief with Drake and GC. He wondered how far along they were in their travels. Had they reached Tumwater and the promise of Nisqually? Were they, even now, at the land office, purchasing the property that they would carve out their home. And how long it would be before they saw them again?

He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he was brought up short: there was a strange man at his camp, talking with Glenn. The lad hadn’t done much in the way of establishing friendships whilst they were in Vancouver, simply because they were in a transient state. The only folks who came by regularly were the Jacksons, and they’d been glad for the company. But this man was tall, unlike anyone he’d seen in town, and it made him concerned enough to quicken his steps. 

There was something about the set of the man’s shoulders that rang familiar to him, but he couldn’t figure on how that would...be…. “No,” he whispered to himself. The man shifted enough for Richard to make out the man’s profile. The nose was crooked, as if it had been broken in a fight, perhaps one over a pretty lass named Elizabeth Macleod? The booming laugh heard seconds later confirmed the impossible. 

Feet pounding across hardened earth. A flash of a most beloved smile. “Arthur!” The collision of two hard, strong bodies, so long parted. Richard wrapped the man in a back-pounding bear hug. “Brother!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to Rainpuddle for her continued encouragement with this fic.


	11. Onward to Bush Prairie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while... hope you like this one...

“Arthur!” Richard choked against his brother’s broad neck, the smell of the tobacco and road dust strong on his kerchief. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

Artie laughed, pulling away from the embrace to beckon Glenn to join them. “I had the chance to meet your friends the Poldarks.”

“You did?” Glenn squeaked, his voice cracking on the last word. “How are they? Did you meet Drake and GC?”

His questions bounced around the two men like fireflies in the night. “They are doing well, gents, quite well,” Artie assured them, “although they were stuck in Tenino for several days because of the weather up north.”

“Tell us,” Richard said, leading them back to the wagon. Artie spent the next hour sharing his time with the Poldark train and how he’d found Ross to be a man of rare qualities, especially this far out in the wilderness. Richard grinned, in full agreement with his brother’s assessment of the best friend and surrogate brother he’d made during his cross-country journey to Washington. Tales of fishing, hunting and dinners around their campfire made Richard yearn for the days when being in their company was a given, not a remembrance. He smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his heart. “They are the best of friends. I miss them a great deal.”

Artie rolled a cigarette. “What if I said you didn’t have to miss them?” he asked, arching a brow.

“What do you mean, brother?” Richard responded, gathering Glenn to his side.

Artie told him about his desire to press further north, due to the scarcity of business prospects for a blacksmith in Tenino. The mosquito fleet -- a large group of steamers and sternwheelers running up and down Puget Sound -- provided access to customers as far flung as Seattle from Olympia and the Nisqually delta. Also, the settlement in and around Olympia and Tumwater was growing, with farmland fertile and plentiful and settlers requiring metal work. “I’ve wanted to pull up stakes and go there myself, but had no way to reach you,” he continued, “well, no sure-fire way to do so without the message getting lost.”

Richard’s mind was in a whirl. When they’d left for America, he figured he’d set up his forge, just as he’d had it back home, and serve the settlers within the immediate vicinity. Now, here was his brother, opening his eyes to a broader purpose, a wider reach into the region; a region still in the throes of new birth. There was truly no reason not to head up to Nisqually, to rejoin their friends, save for one thing. “How many days is it from Tenino to Nisqually?”

Artie’s smile faltered. “At least two weeks. So, barring any difficulties with the roads, we’ve a month of wagon travel ahead of us.”

Richard closed his eyes, groaning. Another month. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to take it, let alone his wife, only now rested enough following her difficult childbirth, to continue their journey. He scrubbed his face with his hands. “God, how am I to tell Helen of the additional time?” he mumbled to himself.

“What’s happened to her?” Artie asked. “Glenn told me about the baby. Is something else wrong?” Richard shared many of the hardships they’d encountered during their travels. When he finished, Artie shook his head. “Poor lassie. But, you know, your wife is a strong woman, Richard.”

“Of course I do, you whelp!” Richard’s brows snapped together in a frown. “D’you expect someone to be able to endure all that the west offers, and to give birth to her first child out in the middle of nowhere to be capable of doing so if they weren’t?”

“No, Rick,” Artie said, his tone gentler. “I meant the girl we knew back home. You know she was always head over heels for you, right?”

Richard blinked. “Come now,” he scoffed.

“No, it’s true, I swear,” Artie continued. “There were other lads, closer in age to her, that tried to go out walking with her. Myself included.” He chuckled at what must have been the look of horror Richard made at that revelation. “She only had eyes for you. Not that it mattered, since you’d only had eyes for Joan back then.”

“W-Well, Helen was only thirteen when Joan and I married!” Richard spluttered.

“Fair enough,” Artie said. “With everything she’d had to go through, at such a young age? The loss of her parents, being sent away to school? She had to be strong to endure all that.” Richard remembered the conversation he’d had with Helen, only moments ago, where he’d come to the same conclusion.

“Da,” Glenn said, speaking for the first time in quite a while. “I think Helen would be willing to put up with the fires of hell if it meant there was a chance she’d be with Demelza again.” He ducked his head. “I overheard some of their conversation the day the Poldarks left for Nisqually. I didn’t mean to, but Helen was crying so loudly I couldn’t help it. She’d told Demelza ‘if I hadn’t had your friendship and support I don’t think I would have made it.’”

Richard paled at this. Didn’t he owe every moment of joy, peace, and contentment he’d had over the past eighteen months to the woman who’d agreed -- without hesitation -- to join him on this mad, epic journey? The woman who’d shown him the true difference love made in his life? He owed her the opportunity to decide upon the new plan before any additional mental cogitation was considered.

He squeezed his son’s arm. _How the lad had grown, nearly up to my shoulder,_ he thought to himself, seeing the family resemblance between Glenn and his uncle, and smiled. “Will you two come and help me tell her?”

The three men made their way towards the small building the sisters had designated as their hospital. “Helen!” Glenn shouted, catching a glimpse of his stepmother in the doorway and running the remaining thirty feet ahead of his father and uncle.

“Glenn!” she smiled, her voice squeaking at the hug he gave her. “I’m so happy to see you! I’ve got my trunk all packed, and Addie tucked up in her swaddling, ready to go.” She looked past Glenn, her eyes meeting Richard’s gaze. “Who is that with your father?”

“It hasna been that long for you not to recognise me, a ghrá!” Artie shouted. Richard laughed when Helen’s eyes widened with shock. She broke away from Glenn, skipping over to fling her arms around his brother. “Oh, Helen, why ye dinna marry me when ye hand the chance, lass!” He gave her a resounding kiss that had Richard’s brows snapping together while his wife squealed with delight, her hand atop her head as if to keep it from exploding.

“That’s enough of that, brother,” Richard barked, scooping Helen up into his arms and capturing her mouth with his. She sighed, looping her arms around his neck. “My minx,” he whispered for her hearing only and set her on the ground. “It’s lovely to see you outside, lass.”

“The news of our departure put me in such good spirits, Ri-Richard,” she said with a stumble over his name. The lovely blush that coloured her cheeks made him realise she’d almost called him by her pet name for him, the one she only used when they were alone. His body tightened, merely at the sound of it and he thanked the heavens for his sporran. “Now, with Arthur standing here, flesh and bone after so very long, it’s as if Christmas has come early!”

“We’ve come to bring you back to the wagon, Helen,” Artie said, “but first, may I have the pleasure of meeting Mistress Adair?”

~*~*~*~*~

Artie’s reaction over the baby warmed Helen’s heart. If truth were told, seeing all of the MacGowan men clustered around the swaddled bundle was enough to make her wish to burst into tears, and she’d had to dab her eyes a time or two before her brother-in-law handed her back to her mother.

“Helen, she is beautiful,” Artie beamed. “About time the MacGowans had a wee lassie to spoil rotten.”

“Oh, that she will be,” Richard said, his arm slipping around Helen’s waist, his broad hand resting on her hip.

“Perhaps you’ll be so taken with her that you won’t notice me stealing your wife away!” Artie joked.

Richard glowered warningly which caused Helen to nudge her husband with her shoulder. “Alas, Artie, you had your chance when we were back home in the glen, but you chose to run off to America instead!”

“‘Twas only because you’d said nay, not once or twice, but three times, that it was clear there was no hope to be found.”

Helen decided it was time to put Richard out of his misery. “That is true, brother dear,” she said, giving Artie a wink before turning her eyes to her husband. “My heart was no longer mine to give.” She smiled as the tension that had been building in Richard’s shoulders eased as he leant down to kiss her. “It was always yours, Richie,” she whispered as they broke the kiss.

“Pardonez moi,” a voice interrupted them. Helen whirled to see Mother Joseph and Sister Blandine standing in the doorway.

“Bon Nuit, Mere Joseph,” Helen said, knowing her cheeks had to have been the colour of tomatoes.

“Mrs MacGowan, we have come to bid you farewell,” Sister Blandine said, her eyes gazing upon Addie’s inquisitive face. “It has been such a pleasure to have you with us these past few weeks.”

“Sister Blandine, I cannot thank you enough for the care you’ve shown both of us,” Helen said, meaning every word. “You were a Godsend.”

Mother Joseph offered one of her rare smiles and placed a rosary atop Addie’s belly. “This is just a little something to remember us by,” Sister Blandinetranslated. Helen caught the frown forming between Richard’s brows and stepped on his foot. “We know you are not Catholic, but we hope this gift can be accepted in the spirit in which it is given.”

“Yes, thank you, Mother Joseph,” Richard said. “And in return, for all you have done for our family, I hope you will accept the gift of six hundred board feet of lumber I have on reserve for you at the mill.” Helen’s shock was reflected on nuns' faces. He toed the floor of the hospital, hard packed earth. “You’ve kept the hospital spotless, but I suspect it will be easier with a hardwood floor.”

Mother Joseph stared up at him, her eyes shining with rare tears as she spoke in rapid-fire French. “Mother Joseph says ‘Monsieur MacGowan; I do not know what to say,’” Sister Blandine exclaimed. She hugged both Richard and Helen, laying her hand against Helen’s cheek. “We will remember you both, always.” Mother Joseph pressed the sign of the cross on the baby’s forehead. “Safe travels to you, friends.”

 

The sisters stood at the gate as the MacGowans made their way from the mission towards the campsite, the two men carrying Helen’s trunk and Glenn carrying the baby’s cradle. It wasn’t until they’d got Adair settled in the wagon that Artie went into detail about the reason for his appearance. The plan to abandon the Tenino settlement for one in Nisqually with the Poldarks made Helen’s heart quicken to the point where she’d had to grip onto her husband’s shoulder to remain steady on her feet. “You aren’t jesting with me, Arthur Daniel MacGowan, like you did when we were children, are you?”

“Never about anything like this, Helen,” her brother-in-law smiled. “I had plenty of time to see that Ross, Demelza, and the boys were thrilled with the idea.

She looked from Glenn’s face, beaming with excitement, down to Richie’s, his arm securely around her waist. “How much farther is the drive?”

The happiness grew shadowed in Richard’s eyes. “We’d be on the road for another month, total, Helen,” he said. She felt his hand tighten on her hip. “That’s the only downside that I can see, a cushla. That, and the fact that we will be very pressed for time to build a home to keep us through the winter.”

Richard drew her down to sit on his lap, which made her blush like a schoolgirl. Artie cleared his throat. “I’ll take Glenn over to the well for some water, to give you two a chance to speak in private.”

“Aw, Uncle Artie,” Glenn whinged, only to be cuffed lightly by his uncle.

“We’ll be back in ten minutes, brother,” Arthur said, hauling Glenn over to the wagon for their buckets.

Helen circled her arms around her husband’s neck, drawn close in a tight embrace. “Richie, can all this be true?” His long hair was loose and flowed down to his broad shoulders. She breathed in his familiar scent that made her throat close in remembrance of their nights together, at home and on the road.

“Aye, lass.” His hands stroked her back. He kissed the skin under her ear, and it made her tremble. “I promise you, Ellie,” he murmured, “we will have a home, with a feather bed and a hearth alongside friends and family, even if I have to break my back to do it.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” she urged, cupping her hands along his furry cheeks, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. “A solid roof over our heads and plenty of blankets will be enough for me.”

“Helen,” he rasped, capturing her lips in a kiss. “When I think of you, serving us tea in the beautiful home you left, with the best linen and china, you with such grace and charm. I had the audacity to ask you to come with me out here in the wilderness.” He rested his forehead against hers. “What in God’s name must I have been thinking?”

“You were thinking of your son, Richie,” she crooned. “And, I’d like to hope, a small tendre for me, too.”

He gave Helen’s long plait a tug. “Oh, it was much more than a little tendre, my lovely one.” He kissed her. “I just hadn’t a proper ken of it until a little later.” He leaned back. “Shall we go, darling?”

“As if I’d say no to being reunited with our friends!” she beamed, nodding. The tension in his body gave way as he hauled her close for a long, lingering kiss that stirred her blood, made her full breasts ache in a way they hadn’t in some time. _Not yet,_ he thought to herself, _another few weeks or more. But will I be ready?_ She broke the kiss, standing with hands outstretched. He rose to stand close, fingers entwined. “Just you watch me!”

“Oh, Helen,” he murmured.

She bounced on her toes. “When can we leave?”

He grinned, stroking her jaw with his thumb. “Is tomorrow soon enough?”

~*~*~*~*~

“Bush Prairie.” 

Demelza followed Ross’s nod towards the small grouping of buildings and cabins at the bottom of the hill. She returned her gaze to meet his, pulling off her glove to stroke his scarred cheek, her heart swelling as he leaned into her touch.  He’d done what he could to keep the fatigue out of his voice, but the lines of exhaustion creasing his handsome face were impossible to disguise. The last two weeks had been the most challenging of their journey across the country, the omnipresent drizzle and heavy traffic along the rough track churning the road into a nearly impassible, mud-clotted effluvia.

“Will we have time to go to the land assessor’s office before nightfall, Ross?” she asked as the oxen’s harnesses jingled as their pace quickened on the downslope.

Ross checked the sun’s status in the sky with a skill learned after what seemed like a thousand days, when the truth was closer to two hundred. One-hundred-and-seventy-two, as a matter of fact, one of the fastest crossings Graves had ever led. “No, love,” he said, adjusting his hat over his eyes. “We should have just enough time to get you and the lad settled at the boarding house before Drake and I head over to the livestock holding area.”

“I would ask if we could help, but I am more than happy to take you up on your plan,” she said, casting her gaze through the flap in the canvas where she found GC curled up on his palette. “I think all of us will be happy to be off the road for a few days.”

“Could be only a day or two, depending on what plats of land are available,” Ross sighed, slapping the reins over Belle and Bite’s broad backs. “The more clearing required, the faster we’ll have to head out.”

Demelza furrowed her brow. The selection of the land was an area of consternation that had come up between them over the last few days. A few settlers she’d met during their travel northward had mentioned availing themselves of land abandoned by earlier pioneers rather than carving out shelter and farming space from the thick, virgin forests that surrounded them. She’d had a chance to experience Ross’s iron will several times during their trip, but his obstinacy had reached a new level when she’d broached the topic with him the previous week.

 _“Think about the time it will save us in preparation for the winter, Ross!” she implored, her voice barely above a whisper. In retrospect, she probably should have waited until morning to begin the discussion, but had been too excited to keep it to herself. What a mistake_ that _had been._

_“We’ve come halfway across the globe to make our new home and I’ll be damned if I do so with someone else’s dream at the core of it, Demelza,” he growled under his breath, his thumb unbuttoning his waistcoat with blazing speed._

_She dropped her brush into her carpet bag, fluffing out the strands that crackled with static. “So you’ll not even consider what the Taylors have to say about it?” she asked, glaring at him as she plaited her hair. He glowered at the thin blanket dividing the tent. “And don’t you mind that,” she snapped. “The boys are asleep.”_

_“They won’t be for long if we keep at it like this,” he growled. “I suggest we go outside to continue this discussion.” He threw the flap open and strode from their tent._ And without his bloody coat, _she grumbled to herself, tying off her braid. She grabbed her wrap, clambered to her feet and, tucking his jacket under in her hands, marched outside after him._

 _And straight into his arms, as his mouth descended upon hers. “Mmph!” she exclaimed against his lips before he captured her bottom lip between his teeth. She moaned._ So unfair, Ross, _she railed in her mind even as her fingers relaxed and she dropped his jacket onto the ground.  She gripped the lapels of his waistcoat as the kiss deepened, grew more untamed as his hands wrapped around the sides of her head._

_“‘Melza,” he growled into her mouth._

_“Ross,” she sighed when he released her lips, his mouth sliding down across her cheek and chin to her throat. “This is so unfair.”_

_“I know.” His voice rumbled against the curve of her shoulder. “And I’m sorry.” He lifted his head, his arms wrapping around her waist. A good thing, too, as her knees had grown weaker and weaker until they could barely support her. “You are right, of course,” he conceded._

_“I am?” she remarked, lifting an eyebrow at the stubborn set of his jaw. The corner of his lips curled up into a grin. “Then what was all of that in the tent?”_

_“That was me being a bloody-minded, horse’s ass, love,” he admitted. He pressed his forehead against hers. “I know that working partially settled property would be the easy way to do this,” he said. “I can’t help but feel as though I would be constrained in the plans I’ve had and have nurtured since leaving Cornwall, all of the plans I’ve share with you and have become ours, together.” He drew her to his side, and she took a moment to gather up his jacket. “What if the property didn’t have the acreage to support the crops or fruit trees we’ve talked about?” he asked, mindlessly sliding the coat onto his frame. It was made of buckskin from deer he’d brought down for their food while they were in Oregon. It was lighter in colour than the breeches he’d had from the start of their travels, but the pale golden skins brought of the richness of his eyes._

_Those eyes were dark with apology when they met hers. “We’ve a world of possibilities here, Demelza,” he said earnestly. “I’ve the chance to be my own man here, someone no longer constrained by the family history I had back in Cornwall. You said it yourself in the first letter you ever sent me, almost a year ago. That you’d heard of the Poldarks.”_

_She nodded. “I remember. I’d heard of the family name, but nothing of the reputation.” She touched his chest. “I didn’t learn about that until that night in Vancouver when we talked about starting our family.”_

_“We have a chance to start a new family history of the Poldarks here, without the ghosts from the past, sweetheart,” he said. “But I see now that it’s not as if I have to carve it from nothing.” He cupped her cheeks. “I’ll offer a compromise. I’ll write down everything I’ve a mind to do and share it with you. Then, I promise to seriously consider an opportunity if we find a plat of abandoned land, and has what we will need to shelter us now, yet the space to expand into our future. If we do not find something suitable, you’ll support us starting from scratch. Agreed?”_

She couldn’t help but agree with his terms. Now, as they drew close to the two-story clapboard building with the sign reading “Henderson’s Boarding House”, all she could do was hope he would remember this when the time came to go to the assessor’s.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she was shown into the rooms they’d arranged for their first week in the region. Simple in construction and appointments, the boys would be in the room next to hers. Demelza took a moment to spread the quilt they’d received from Mrs Sherman upon the comfortable wood-framed bed and washed before changing into her blue gingham dress, gathered up her nephew and went downstairs to await her husband and brother’s return from the livestock pen.

Ninety minutes later, following a simple meal of venison stew and the first wheat bread they’d had in ages, Ross carried the sleeping GC upstairs while Demelza and Drake trudged along behind them. “I’ll settle him into bed, Demelza,” Ross whispered when they reached the top of the stairs.

“No, I can do that, Ross,” Drake said, yawning, reaching for the lad.

Demelza blinked. “Thank you, Drake.”

“You sure about that, son?” Ross asked as he shifted GC into his brother-in-law’s arms.

Drake nodded. “Happy to,” he said with a sleepy smile. “‘Night, you two.”

“Good night, Drake,” Demelza said warmly as the door shut with barely a sound. “That was sweet of him.”

Ross’s hand stroked her from neck to lower back. “After five months of living on top of one another, I think he’s got used to the fact his sister and brother-in-law appreciate a closed do--” She raised her hand to clap over his laughing mouth.

“Ross Poldark!” she scolded, her face burning. His shoulders shook with chuckles. “Don’t you say another wo--!”

He pulled her close, kissing the rest of the words away. “Well, you do, don’t you?” he murmured. “Let’s go to bed, cinnamon girl.”

Who could resist when he put it that way? He began to loosen her braid the moment the door closed behind them, using his fingers to comb through her locks and massage her scalp. She returned the favour, pulling the leather thong free from his clubbed hair. “I should wash, love,” he groaned when her fingers unbuttoned his shirt.

“There’s warm water in the ewer,” she said, nipping at his bottom lip. He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers and turned towards the dresser. She snuck a peek at him as he splashed water on his face, scouring his neck, chest and armpits with a wet towel that changed from white to dark beige by the time he’d finished. “Help me with my stays, Ross?” His mouth nibbled and nuzzled her neck as he untied the strings at her back, and she shivered when his broad hands massaged her breasts as the garment slid to the floor.

A familiar sound from next door unravelled the cocoon of desire they were spinning, and Ross pressed his forehead to the curve of her neck. “GC,” he groaned.

Demelza turned in his arms, rising on tiptoe to kiss his throat. “I’ll see to him. You finish your bath.” Ross kissed her once more before she reached for her robe and slipped away.

“Boys?” she whispered as she knocked, opening the door. Drake was dead to the world, having fallen asleep atop the blankets, gentle snores coming from his side of the room.

GC, on the other hand, sat straight up on his bed, his eyes wide and damp with tears. “Mama,” he choked.

“Geoffrey Charles,” Demelza murmured, hurrying to his side. The boy clung to her, his head resting against her breast. “What’s the matter, darling?”

“I w-woke up and didn’t know where I was,” he sobbed.

She pressed a kiss to his head and breathed in his scent, his blond hair dusty from the road. “We’re in Bush Prairie, darling,” she said, running her hand down his strong, little back. “Almost at the end.” She leaned back to brush his cheek with her thumb. “We’re to stay here for a few days while Papa Ross finds us a place to make our home.” The boy had started calling Ross “Papa” while they headed up from Vancouver, ever since the rescue of Garrick. The dog had had to stay in the livery with the horses, and she’d wondered if GC would have difficulty sleeping because of it.

“I want Garrick,” he wept, proving her suspicions. “Do you think, if we’re able to convince...what’s his name again?”

“Mr Henderson?” she offered.

GC nodded. “Yes, Mr Henderson. If we convince him that Garrick was free from crawlers, he’d let him stay?”

Demelza nibbled on her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “It can’t hurt to ask, now, can it?” GC gave her a squeeze. “But for now, I need you to go back to sleep, alright, love?”

“Yes, Mama,” he agreed, a yawn already making him breathless.

“G’night, my little man,” she said, settling him under his blankets and kissing him on the forehead. “See you in the morning.”

“‘Night,” he said, ducking his head down onto the pillow.

Demelza stayed with him, rubbing circles along his back until the boy’s breathing had become deep and even before tiptoeing from the room. She opened the door to her room with a sigh. “He’s missing Ga---” She stopped, casting her eyes to the ceiling.

Her husband lay in bed, naked and so very desirable, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, they've arrived! I'm so excited! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read and supported this piece, especially Rainpuddle.


	12. MacAllister Creek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

Wandering hands and nuzzling kisses drew Demelza from her slumber. “And here I was, thinking you’d forgotten all about me, husband,” she cooed, turning in his arms.   
  
“I could never do that,” Ross murmured against the curve of her jaw.   
  
“You were dead on your feet last night,” she added, a giggle bubbling forth as she felt him tug on her night shift. It was stuck under her hip.   
  
“That was then,” he growled, nipping her earlobe, “but this–” his erection nudged hard against her thigh “–is now.” His hand slid under the hem of her garment, and all jesting came to an end. She shuddered as his fingers slipped between her legs to stroke the wet heat of her centre. “Thinking of me, cinnamon girl?”

“Always.” She lifted her hips, pulling her night rail free from her lower body. “Please, Ross,” she sighed, “skin to skin, I need it so much.” His eyes glittered in the morning light as they both shoved the cotton garment up over her head. She pressed her hands on his shoulders, forcing him back against the mattress, and kissed him hungrily, her fingers fisting in his hair. “So lucky,” she breathed, her mouth nibbling a path over his jaw and down his muscular neck. She rubbed her cheek against the hair on his chest, stirring the musky scent of him she loved so much. 

“Both so lucky,” he groaned, drawing her gaze to his face. His head was tilted back, nestled deep in his pillow, his mouth open, slack with desire. He was beautiful, so beautiful, and hers. Her mouth found his nipple, suckling the diamond-hard peak. She ran her nails along his ribs, slipping lower onto the bed, following the thick, black hair that covered his hard, flat stomach her nose nuzzling as it narrowed to a trail that guided her to her heart’s desire.

She shoved the bedding that shielded his sex, revealing his heavy length, lying flat against his lower belly, pulsing with need. “Ross,” she whispered, her lips within inches of the exposed glans. His hips arched in response to her warm breath. She ran her fingers through the thick, ebony forest of hair at his root, her other hand cradling the heavy scrotum, its skin undulating as it tightened against his body. She grinned at the groan that exploded from his chest. “Want to taste you.”

“Not too much, love,” he rasped. His hand stroked her head. She looked up to find his eyes, as dark as night, avidly watching her. “Need to be inside you.” His words made her quim flutter and swell.

“Yes, Ross,” she breathed. She slipped her hand between her legs and lightly stroked her nub, the folds of her sex slick and shivering with need. “I want that, too, but I must have this, now.” She painted his length with the honeyed dew from her quim, her tongue snaking out to lick the sensitive underside, savouring his musk combined with the briny tang of her juices. “You’re better than any cinnamon stick I’ve ever tasted.”

His hips arched, coming off the bed and he laughed brokenly, his hands fisting in the sheets. “Wicked, wicked woman.”

She tongued the droplets of his seed that slipped free from the slit, bitter and delectable, sighing with pleasure. “You like that?”

“Judas God,” he moaned, “you know I do, minx.” His fingers roped through her hair, tightening to pull at the strands. God, she loved it when he pulled on her hair.  _ Stop toying,  _ she told herself, finally taking him into her mouth. He thrust up into her, and she eased the muscles of her throat to take more of him deep, shifting until she knelt between his muscular thighs. She settled in to love him with her mouth, to taste the salt and sweat on his skin. So strong, and yet so pliant at her touch. She raked her nails down his waist to bracket his hips and along the inside of his thighs.

“Enough, Demelza, please,” he begged, bending at the waist to lift her from him, turning them both until she lay under him, his knee parting her legs, his hands widening her until he surged, heavy and full inside her.

“God, oh, dear God,” she moaned as he began to move, his hips flashing against hers. Her world narrowed to this moment, the pressure of his body flattening hers into the feather ticking, his mouth tasting the skin of her throat, his voice muttering words that were dark, salacious, ardent and adoring, all at once. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him tighter until it was hard to discern where one stopped, and the other began.

He shifted onto his elbows, his hands cupping her face. “I love you, Demelza.” She opened her eyes, moved to tears by the truth she saw in his eyes. Her climax rushed upon her, pinioning her to this man, this life, for all time. She cried out his name against his throat as he shuddered heavily atop her, within her. He collapsed, and she cushioned the full, glorious weight of him in repose, her hands stroking his sweat-soaked back and buttocks. They remained thus for several moments, their stuttered breathing and whispered sighs the only sound to be heard.

Soon, he drew up onto his elbows to kiss her, softly. “I am too heavy to stay like this, sweetheart.”

“This was something I once thought we could never share.” She tightened her legs around his waist. “Now, it is the only place I wish to be.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “I love you, so much.” His thumb brushed it away, his mouth finding hers once more.

It was a while before either moved again.

 

“Where is the land office again, Ross?” Demelza asked as she plaited her hair.  


“On the other side of town,” he replied, his words distorted slightly by the face he made in the mirror as he swiped the last of the shaving cream from his chin. His teasing eyes met hers. “Which is about a five-minute walk from here.”

She chuckled. “It’s wondrous how the word ‘town’ is used to describe a place like Truro and Bush Prairie.” She twisted the braid atop her head, expertly securing it with pins without the benefit of a mirror and stood to shake out her skirts, catching her husband out of the corner of her eye as he slipped into his blue chambray shirt. “You look very handsome today, Ross.”

He grinned. “And you look beautiful in your new dress, love.” They’d decided they should look their best for this visit, so she’d donned the dress she’d worked on since they’d left Laramie. Made from a dark red cotton, it had followed the lines of her blue gingham, with long sleeves for the fall. She’d trimmed the neckline and wrists with floral satin ribbon. “I feel as if I should be escorting you to the theatre or concert rather than a small, cramped office to stare at maps.”

She walked over to where he stood, her fingers sliding the buttons into their holes. “This is a special occasion,” she stated. “Today we find the spot we shall call home for the rest of our lives.” She rose on tiptoe to kiss his smooth cheek. “You spoke with Drake about watching GC?”

“Yes.” Ross eyed her as he slipped his tie around the back of his neck. “He wasn’t pleased about it.”

“Just as I told you,” she said, settling the dark blue bonnet on her head, tying its ribbons under her chin, near her right ear. “They’re starting their lives in this new place, too.”

He frowned. “It is likely to be a bore for children, Demelza. Will they be capable of behaving themselves while we conduct our business?”

“If instructed to do so, yes,” Demelza countered. “If they don’t, I will march them back here myself.” She went to stand next to Ross, who slightly resembled a disgruntled rooster, his tie a tangled mess. “Drake started this journey with me, all the way back when we ran from our home in Cornwall. The same applies for you and Geoffrey Charles.” Her fingers gently straightened the fabric of his tie, knotting it expertly while she stared into her husband’s changeable eyes. “It feels wrong for them not to be a part of this.”

Ross pursed his lips, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Alright, love.” She squeaked with happiness, pressing a kiss on his lips before she dashed for the door. “Provided they can be ready to leave in fifteen minutes!”

Twenty minutes later, the Poldark-Carnes stepped onto the boardwalk in their Sunday best, walking towards their destiny. True to his word, they arrived at a small brick building, the only one in town, so far as she’d seen. She read the sign over the door: Washington Territory Land Assessor, Percival Bennett, proprietor. She squeezed Ross’s arm. “Are you nervous?”

“Not a bit.” He smiled. “Allow me, Mrs Poldark.”

 

“Some properties appear to meet your specifications, Mr Poldark,” Percival Bennett stated. He turned to face a wall of rolled up maps and documents sufficient to make Demelza gasp. He fingered a couple before settling on two scrolls near the top. “Two with sizable acreage in virgin territory, about twelve miles northeast of town.” He spread the scroll wide, weighting the corners with stones and pointed to two adjacent plats. “Heavily wooded, but an untold amount of cash to be made at the mill with everything you’re able to pull down from there.” He pointed at the land to the east of the river. “There some open valley here that would make a prime spot for settling.” He ran his finger along the river. “The MacAllister Creek, one of the tributaries from the mountain, runs through the two and has never run dry, as far as I know, and I’ve been here for almost thirty years.” He released the weights, the scroll rerolling in seconds.  “There’s another that is partially cleared a little more than three miles southeast.”

“What happened to the settlers on that piece of land?” Ross asked.

Bennett glanced at the boys, who were busily looking through an atlas he’d shown them when the family first arrived. “Tragic story,” he said, leaning in to whisper to Ross and Demelza. “Man, his wife and their baby boy died from smallpox. Happened about six months back.”

“How horrid,” Demelza murmured, shivering.

Ross drew her close in comfort. “Tell us a little about what they were able to do at the property before they died?”

Bennett spread the other scroll. “It’s a pretty piece of land, Mr Poldark,” the assessor said, his finger running along the property lines. “Smaller by half than the others, about five hundred acres, bordered on the east by a small creek, so plenty of water for the family and livestock. They were able to clear a good sized portion to settle. A small cabin and barn are standing. Could be enough readily available land to get a winter garden planted, too.” 

  
Demelza saw the muscle in Ross’s jaw tense, and she knew he was brooding about their agreement. She pressed her fingertips against his forearm. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and arched his brow. “I know,” he said softly. He cleared his throat. “Is there an option to purchase more land adjacent to this piece, Bennett?”

The assessor adjusted his spectacles and peered at the map. “Not to the west, but there are another hundred acres available to the northeast?”

Ross nodded. “Could you give me the next two to three days to visit these told me you needed before I decide?”

“I can do, sir, I can do.” Bennett handed over the scrolls. “I’ll need a hundred dollars in earnest money, fully refundable should you choose not to buy.”

“There’s little chance of that, Bennett,” Ross said sardonically, opening the pouch he had tied to his waist. Gold was exchanged, and hands shook to seal the bargain. “You’ll have your answer by the end of the third day, if not before. Thank you.” Ross ushered the family out of the office and back out into the bright sunlight. “What say you to riding out to look at the property near town?” he asked.

The boys were delighted by the proposal. Demelza looked up her husband. “We’ve only Seamus, Ross,” she said, confused.

“I thought to purchase a horse for you, Demelza. Drake could ride with you, and I'll take GC.” She blinked, speechless. “It would be wise for us to have two horses at our homestead, in case something happens while I am away.”

“B-But I’ve only practiced on Seamus a few times!”

“And you’re excellent, given your limited experience, and you will only get better.”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “What about Hanna, Zeke Michael’s mare? She was such a lovely horse. They were successful in breeding her with Dwight’s Tahoma, yes?”

“Um-hmm,” Ross hummed, lighting the cheroot he’d pulled from his breast pocket and pressed between his lips. He blew out a cloud of fragrant smoke. “We are first in line for the foal she’s carrying, but we’ve at least two years before it will be ready to ride.” He grinned rakishly down at her. “Unless you want me to go down to Tenino and horsenap Hanna for you. I don’t think that would be much appreciated.”

“Oh, of course not.” She gave his side a poke with her finger. “I suppose I’d much rather wait until we know where we’ll settle before we add to the livestock we already need to shelter for winter.” She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I understand building a barn isn’t as complicated as a house, but I want to make sure all of our animals will be safe and sheltered from the elements and the predators.”

“Agreed. Alright, we’ll wait on the horse, but not for long. Well before we have snow.” He was thoughtful for several moments and lowered his voice. “What this means we can’t go out to the MacAllister land together today.”

“Why?” she blurted.

“Because it will take half a day by wagon, which is the only way we could all go there,” he whispered to keep the boys from reacting. She couldn’t keep the disappointment from wilting her posture. He nudged her chin up with his finger. “I don’t see any way for us to do that, sweetheart. Not in virgin country, without having the security of the wagon train, which we no longer have.”

“So what do you plan to do?” she said petulantly.

“I’d go out with Dwight and Joshua, on horseback, so we can be there and back quickly.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Probably within a half a day.”

“Do you promise not to make any decisions without me, Ross?” she said.

“That is the third time you’ve asked this of me today,” he observed coolly. His eyes, which had sparkled with pleasure and humour darkened. He drew in a long pull from his cheroot, tapping it out on the heel of his boot. “I am a man of my word, Demelza.”

She could have kicked herself. “Of course you are, darling. I’m sorry,” she offered, brushing his cheek with her lips. “Forgive me?” she murmured against his jaw.

He gave a small nod and cleared his throat to get the boys’ attention. “Let’s go get the wagon hitched up so we can have an adventure, yes?”

In the end, it was clear to both that the property wouldn’t suit. The cabin was rough-hewn with a poorly built chimney requiring replacement. And while there was a sizable plot of land cleared for the winter garden, as promised, its orientation to the sun made it clear the family had had little experience farming. Finally, the available land to the northeast was rocky and ill-suited for the types of enterprise Ross had planned. The family returned to the boarding house, their spirits sorely tested by their adopted homeland.

That was until they were stopped by Mrs Henderson. A letter had arrived for them while they were out. It read:

> 10 September 1857
> 
> Ross,
> 
> We are leaving Vancouver to join you in Nisqually. Can afford eighty acres, preferably on or near the main road between Seattle and Bush Prairie. Neighboring your land if at all possible. Looking forward to reuniting with you and yours. Hope all is well.
> 
> Warm regards,
> 
> R MacGowan and family

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross, Dwight and Joshua rode out at dawn the next day, bedrolls and camping gear strapped down on their mounts in the off-chance they would need to overnight. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary: another storm was due to hit by mid-afternoon, according to some of the locals familiar enough with the pace of change the Pacific Northwest climate offered. Ross didn’t much care to sleep rough in the rain, not when he had a perfectly good room to avail himself. He suspected his two companions felt much the same way, for they’d all been quiet since they’d left Bush Prairie, pushing their horses and focusing their attention on making satisfactory progress while the weather held. Barring any unforeseen difficulties, they would reach the open plats within two hours, if they rode hard along the main road before turning onto the horse track Bennett said was clearly marked at the mouth of the creek.

Ross carried the letter they’d received from Richard and Helen in the breast pocket of his coat as if it were a kind of good luck talisman for their expedition. How he hoped this land would be the spot to begin this new chapter for the Poldarks, but even if it wasn’t, he knew he was in the right place to find it. He couldn’t get over the riches to be found here, the trees that seemed to stretch straight up to the stars, the fish that indeed did run thick enough to walk across the rivers. He’d heard talk of the need for another smithy in town only last night while he and Dwight nursed some whiskey over a friendly game of poker. The opportunities appeared to be endless. He only wished there were three more of him so he could accomplish all they required before November arrived.

“Up here!” Dwight’s voice shook Ross from his thoughts. “We’re on the first of the two plats of land now, Ross!” He looked up to see his friend pointing towards a rough trail. His eyes widened as he took in the “creek”. The creek bed of the MacAllister was almost thirty feet across, but the water level was low, maybe a third of what it would be in the spring when the winter snowmelt came through. So far, the prospects looked good. “It’s not too deep right now, easily passable for the wagon.”

“We’d have to build some kind of bridge over it for spring and summer,” Ross commented. He nudged Seamus forward into the creek. Sure enough, the water barely reached the horse’s belly. “Joshua, do you think we’ll have any difficulty hauling the cleared lumber to market?”

“No, Ross,” the Freedman said, “we’ll be able to get a couple of sledges to town each day if we’re lucky with the weather.” True to his word, Joshua began addressing Ross and Dwight by their first name the minute Caroline had signed over the Robinsons’ indenture papers. It had been more of an emotional moment than any had thought it would be, but one that had been sorely welcomed after their six-month journey across the country. One of the first things Joshua had done was purchase a horse and saddle, a lovely roan mare he’d named Penny, a nod to the woman who’d been his employer and was now a friend. “There’s a lot of money on this land, Ross. Easily enough board-feet of lumber to build your house three times over.”

Ross smiled. “I’ll not allow myself to get too excited at the prospect. Not yet, at least.” He nudged Seamus forward. “Let’s see the rest.” They cantered up the path, deeper into the forest. “How are you and your family settling in, Joshua?”

“Well, thank you kindly,” he said, smiling. “Miss Caroline insisted Mama, Betsy and I stay with her at the guest home she rented on the Bush property until Betsy’s time.” He and his wife were two months away from welcoming their first child into the world. “She’s offered to let us stay with her through winter if I’m not able to find a place with a storefront and living quarters at a reasonable price.”

“How do your prospects look?” Dwight asked.

“Well, I saw a couple that might suit, but they’d eat up my meagre savings in less than three months’ time.”

Dwight whistled. “That expensive?” Ross asked, shocked. He knew Joshua had been able to save up a sizable amount of coin during their travels. That, coupled with the money he’d received when he was granted his freedom, should have been enough to cover the cost of their accommodation for well over a year, ample time for them to get settled and for Joshua’s business to become solvent. A foul thought crossed his mind. “Or are they expecting you to pay more because you’re black?”

“Can’t put anything past you, can I, Ross?” Joshua said, his blue-grey eyes turning dark. “I’d hoped things would be different here, and -- in some cases -- they are,” he pointed out, “but it doesn’t stop some people from taking advantage.”

“What about the sawmill?” Dwight asked. “Have you run into difficulty there as well?”

“It’s been mixed,” Joshua offered, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Some of the men there had no interest in working with the likes of me. For others, it wasn’t so much my race, but the fact I’m a newcomer. Many people aren’t willing to give a stranger work without some local references.”

They rode in silence, the sound of the horses’ hooves crackling small twigs on the trail, the birds chirping and the water burbling over river rock soothing their troubled minds.

Twenty minutes later, they came around a bend in the creek. Ross drew up sharply on Seamus’s reins. “Holy shit.”

A pretty valley, covered in tall, waving fields of grasses and wildflowers stretched out before them, bracketed by thick, dense forests. The creek ran down from a waterfall through the valley, and at its head rose Mount Tahoma. It was massive, more majestic than the Rockies, more daunting than Mount Hood.

“Come on,” Ross called to his friends and sent Seamus off into a canter, splashing back through the MacAllister to the other side. He reined up sharply and hopped down from the saddle, reaching into his bag to withdraw the map. He snapped his fingers at Dwight. “Your compass, quickly, please.”

“Steady on,” Dwight groused, hobbling Tahoma near the creek. He walked to where Ross crouched, slapping the compass in his outstretched hand. “Do you reckon this is the place?”

Ross nodded. “God, I hope so.” He opened the compass, shifting his position until he faced due north, then spread out the map to observe the noted landmarks. The valley, the waterfall, and the rock formations: it all fit. “Joshua.”

“Yes, Ross?” he said, joining Dwight and Ross around the map.

“You told us you needed local references to secure additional work.” The older man nodded. “You can’t have forgotten our conversation in Laramie, now,” Ross asked. “The day you showed me your sketchbook?”

Joshua’s cheeks reddened. “Well, I didn’t want to assume…I mean, we hadn’t come to a formal arrangement, Ross.”

“True enough,” he said. “But consider it formalised now because this is it.” Ross knew he’d promised Demelza he’d not make any plans until speaking with her first. If she could only see what was before him now, she’d never object. But he’d promised. “If it were only up to me, I would say this is the spot. If it turns out to be, I wish to commission a home of your design for my family.”

“You mean the one I thought we could build within a month, month and a half?” Joshua asked. “Extended to accommodate a room downstairs and a loft above?”

“Exactly,” Ross confirmed, holding out his hand.

“I’d be a fool not to accept,” Joshua laughed, clasping the offered hand in his own “Thank you very much, Ross.”

They all stood, grinning. “And now all I have to do is convince Demelza.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do believe I'm with Ross on this one -- Demelza will be crazy about the spot, don't you think? I also suspect she'll have other things to be excited about...it IS September, after all. 
> 
> Many many thanks to Rainpuddle -- we've finally made it to their new home, sweetie! And thanks to all of you who continue to follow along and comment. I really appreciated it, gang!


	13. The Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join the Poldarks, their family and friends as they battle treacherous river crossings, time and the elements to establish their new homestead in the Nisqually of Washington Territory, learning what it takes to survive and flourish in this rugged new country.

Richard heard Helen’s sigh of relief as their wagon crested the hill. “Is that it?” she asked. He looked at her, lack of sleep leaving dark smudges under her beautiful blue eyes. She must have noticed his look of concern because she flapped her hand against his shoulder. “You worry about me too much, Richard.”

“I don’t believe there’s any such thing, acushla,” he murmured as she joined him on the bench seat. She’d wrapped a shawl she’d finished crocheting just the night before around her shoulders, and its rich green wool was lovely against her skin. “But to answer your question, that is Bush Prairie. I sent Artie down ahead of us to see about lodgings for us.”

Her hand slipped along his thigh, which quivered under her touch. “Aren’t we in a terrible hurry to get building our shelter from the winter?” she asked.

“Yes, but first we need to find out where they’ve settled and if the land he’d placed in trust for us will work for our purposes.” Richard hadn’t experienced a moment of doubt when Artie suggested to ask Ross to do this for them. It was a testament to the trust he had in his friend to authorise him to put down money for land Richard had never seen. “Besides, I am bound and determined to get you and the babe settled in a comfortable room before I go off in search of Ross Poldark’s new homestead.”

“A room?” Helen breathed. “With a bed?”

Richard chuckled. “Yes, a bed for you, my love.” He kissed her temple. “I can’t guarantee it will be like the feather bed we had in Laramie---”

“---but it will not be rolling along the prairie or a mountainside!” She beamed up at him. “It sounds lovely.” He bent his head to kiss her lips but stopped at the sound of galloping hoofbeats. “Artie! Were you able to find them?”

His brother came to a dusty halt next to the wagon, wheeling his horse around to amble next to the oxen. “They are at Henderson’s Boarding House. They had one room left, so I had them hold it for you.”

“Thank you, brother,” Richard said. “Was Ross there when you arrived?”

“Oh no, he’s out on his land,” Artie said. “He’s in a little valley about twelve miles out of town. Should be coming back for the evening in a couple of hours.” He pointed to a small, clapboard building on the outskirts of town. “That’s the place right there. Demelza and the boys are eagerly awaiting your arrival. It was all I could do to keep them from running after me!”

Richard looked and thought he saw Demelza’s bright hair blowing like a red-golden flag. He smiled broadly.

“Helen, look,” Richard said, pointing. “Are you up for a quicker pace?”

“Yes,” she squealed, “oh yes!”

Sure enough, they could see Demelza standing on the porch of the boarding house, bouncing up and down on her toes and waving. The two boys had begun to run towards them, and Richard was thrilled to hear Glenn’s shout of greeting as he ran towards GC and Drake. He glanced down at his wife, who was dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her apron. “Helen, a ghrá, those are happy tears, yes?”

She nodded her head enthusiastically. “Richard, slow down for a moment. I want to have Addie in my arms when we reach them.”

He complied, grinning as she scrambled back into the wagon. He held out his arm. “Give her to me while you get settled back on the bench, love.” While this occurred, Richard had a moment to gaze at his little angel, sweet Adair, her blue eyes wide open and sparkling in the sunlight. “We’re almost home, _a leanbh_.” He pressed a kiss to her button nose. “Do you think she can see me, Helen?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Helen said. “She can grab a braid without any difficulty spotting it.”

The baby proved his wife’s point seconds later when she latched onto one of Richard’s side braids and tugged. “Och!” he winced, arching a brow at Helen’s laughter.

“I’ll set you free,” she said. She untangled the child’s hand from her father’s hair, and then took Adair from Richard’s arms, settling her against her breast. “Time to meet your godmama, my wee bug.” She nudged Richard with her elbow. “Now, faster, Richard.”

They passed the boys, who’d met halfway and were hugging, wrestling and laughing with glee and headed towards Demelza, whose cheeks were shiny with her tears. “It’ll be a wonder if either of you gets any sleep tonight,” Richard murmured.

Helen quivered with excitement. “Why?”

He kissed her. “Because you’ll be up chatting the night away!”

“Welcome! Oh, welcome, my friends,” Demelza cried, skipping around the oxen to reach Helen’s side of the seat. “Hand me the baby and get down here, darling Helen!”

  
After so many months on the road, the celebratory mood in the boarding house that evening was restorative for all of the travellers. The bloom on Helen’s cheeks, brought about by the laughter and the camaraderie of their friends – not to mention a nice, long nap – compounded the rightness of their decision to settle in Nisqually with the Poldarks. Richard’s reunion with Ross had been more than he could have asked for, as it now included his brother Artie, Joshua and Dwight, a band of brothers whom he would rely upon as they all established their community in the delta.

“GC, you will take that dog outside, right now,” Ross’s voice pitched over the din their group made in the dining room of the boarding house.

“You are to come in to ready for bed at sundown, understood?” Demelza added, giving her two lads a steely-eyed glance that would have chilled the grown lads had it been directed at them.

“Yes, Mama,” GC chirped before all three boys galloped towards the door.

Helen reached for Demelza’s hand. “It feels like it’s been months since I’ve seen you all,” she murmured, “when it’s only been a few weeks.”

“I think time moves more slowly here,” Demelza replied. “Well, slow in some regards, and terribly fast in others. It was only yesterday that we had the first windstorm we’ve encountered in Bush Prairie, and I swear the air was so cold it felt like we would see snowfall at any moment!”

“It made for a very uncomfortable night in the tent last night,” Richard said with a frown. “I gave serious thought of pushing the last ten miles we had to go to reach the prairie, but the animals were on their last tether.”  He looked at Ross. “Was last night an indication we're in for winter weather sooner rather than later?”

He couldn’t read the expression on Ross’s face, and that worried him. “Some of the natives have indicated we will be in for a very long, cold winter,” Ross said. “All the more reason for us to get you out to the valley at first light so you can see if what I’ve held for you will suit your purposes or if we need to keep searching.”

“No doubt you’ve found us a bonny spot,” Richard said, packing his pipe with tobacco. He lit it and held out a twig for Ross to use on his cheroot. “The one you’ve described for you and Demelza sounds almost too good to be true.”

“I discovered it had been purchased by another settler about a year before we arrived.” Ross flicked a look at the women and lowered his voice. “He’d died in a skirmish during the Puget Sound War.” He cleared his throat. “Demelza, we’re going to go out on the porch to finish these,” Ross said, gesturing with the hand holding the cigar. “We’ll keep an eye on the lads.”

“Thank you, Ross,” she said with a warm smile.

The men were silent until they reached the outdoors. Richard drew Ross to a halt. “War?”

“The vast majority of the battle took place further north, in Seattle,” Dwight said grimly, “but it involved Indians from several of the Puget Sound tribes, including the Nisqually. Relations between the tribe and new settlers have been somewhat quiet since the spring of last year, but it wouldn’t take much to stir up animosities.”

“Such as?” Richard asked.

“Efforts to renegotiate treaty lands, for one,” Dwight offered. “It was the initial negotiations by Stevens – territorial governor back in 1855 – that fanned the flames already smouldering.” He sighed. “There’s also a trial pending for one of their chiefs that has tensions increasing---”

“---But our families will be safe here?” Richard interrupted as he looked between his friends for reassurance. “Safe on this land?”

“I believe so,” Ross assured him. “I’ve met with several of the native Nisqually who live near us, and established a good rapport, don’t you think, Dwight?”

The doctor nodded. “Better than most of the white settlers here.”

“Don’t worry, Richard,” Ross said, clapping the Scot on the shoulder. “We’ll go over what all we need to do to get you, Helen and the children settled if it is out near our place on MacAllister Creek or here, closer to town.”

  
“Richie?” He started at Helen’s soft, sleepy voice. It was somewhere near three o’clock in the morning. “Richard?” her voice louder, edged with worry, “where are you?”

“Here I am, hen,” he whispered, his head clearing the end of the bed so she could see him. His sleep had been fitful, despite the exhaustion that had settled upon him like a wraith once he'd secured the animals. Bad enough for him to place a bedroll on the floor to keep the tossing and turning from waking his wife. Tending to Addie’s needs would do enough of that.

Tension eased from her shoulders, and she scrambled from under the bedclothes to crawl to the end of the bed. “Richie,” she crooned, and he closed his eyes as her fingers threaded through his hair. “You’ve been very quiet and thoughtful since we said goodnight to everyone. Anything you can share with me, Ghraidh?”

 

He rose to sit next to her, and she curled her lower body to snuggle up to him. “Ah, Ellie, that’s nice,” he murmured. Her full breasts pressed against his back, and he shuddered when she kissed the skin between his shoulder blades. He’d missed her, so terribly, during their separation in Vancouver. They’d shared warm embraces and delightful kisses during the nights since then, but the hard pace they’d set to reach Bush Prairie had been enough to bring such activities to a natural halt when sleep swiftly settled upon them. He’d been quite contented with this, having his wife close to him once more. Earlier in the evening, she’d been bolder than she’d been for a very long time.  He dared to hope she was trying to tell him something, to give him some indication that she was ready to welcome him back to their marriage bed, but it still seemed to be too soon since Addie’s arrival.

Dwight had advised them to wait at least eight weeks before resuming full intimacies, and the fact they’d reached that milestone hadn’t escaped Richard’s mind. He delighted in his daughter’s growth and each new day seemed to bring about another new thing that Addie could do: recognising him when he picked her up, her smile when she heard his voice, and her latest accomplishment, lifting her chest off the floor using her chubby forearms for support. And yet, each new day had drawn Richard and Helen closer and closer to the moment he anticipated and dreaded at the same time. He’d been apprehensive about bedding his wife from the start. Was he prepared to do so again after she’d suffered so much bringing their daughter into the world?

“Richie.” She shifted closer, her arm circling his waist, her hand touching his abdomen. “Here I am, attempting to distract you, and you’ve barely moved. What has you so concerned?” He turned, scooping her in his arms. “Oh!” she squeaked happily. “And just what do you have in store for me, husband?”

He carried her until he was able to settle her into the bedclothes. “Budge over, and we’ll see,” he murmured. She smiled, making room for him to stretch out beside her. “First, always a kiss for my bonny Ellie,” he whispered. She sighed against his mouth, and he closed his eyes, drawing her into his embrace as they gloried in the bliss a simple kiss could provide. He cupped her breast in his hand, brushing his thumb across her nipple. A patch of dampness grew on her nightrail, and she eased away from him, cheeks pinkening. “Ah, lass, by now you should ken I dinna mind.”

“I know,” Helen said shyly, toying with his chest hair.

He purred under her touch. “Besides,” he leaned back, bringing her with him to rest against his side, “as much as I’m enjoying that, I’ve something to tell you.” Richard shared the conversation he’d had with Ross and Dwight, the pretty blush that had blossomed in her face fading as he spared no details; she had a right to be fully informed.

By the time he finished, she was all but on his lap. “Richard,” she murmured, her eyes so dark and luminous. “We’ve come so far. Do you feel we should go back south? Maybe not all the way down to Tenino, but just a bit. To put some distance from the hostilities?”

“I dinna think I can say one way or the other as yet, hen,” he said with a sigh. “But, I’m a wee bit surprised you’d suggest we leave here, after wanting to be close to the Poldarks.”

“'Tis not what I want, not at all!” She ran her fingers along his chin, pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Believe me; I would be heartbroken, to come this far only to have to go back.”

He could hear the tightness of her voice and knew she was doing her best to be brave. “We’re to go out to the property tomorrow, Ross and m—”

“—I want to go, too,” Helen interrupted. He blinked in surprise. There was such determination in the set of her jaw, the way her fair brow furrowed. “Tis the only way I’ll know how to answer for certain.”

“Truly?” he asked. “After everything I’ve said tonight?”

She swallowed. “Yes. May I?” Richard stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Gone was the sheltered, delicate flower he’d married in Scotland two years before. He hoped he would see glimmers of the girl from the glen once they settled in their home, but the new confidence she exhibited stirred him, deeply. She was his companion here in the wilderness, and it was past time he relied on her strength.

And yet, apprehension coiled in his belly as he nodded, nuzzling her neck to keep her from seeing his concern.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Almost there, everyone!” Ross called out to the party. His stomach jumped with nerves as they approached the last bend before the MacAllister. He’d heard the unease in Richard’s voice the night before and wondered if he should have waited until he’d taken his friend out to see the valley before mentioning the way they’d come to acquire it.

Ross had had the opportunity to meet the Nisqually who lived just on the other side of the creek the second day he’d journeyed to the property. Dwight had insisted on it, to show them respect before any building took place. He’d discovered the people still reeling from the effects of the war, in particular, the imprisonment of their chief, Leschi. He’d been sentenced to hang for the murder of Colonel Abram Benton Moses, a member of the territorial militia, during the Puget Sound War. He’d denied any involvement in the colonel’s death. The first trial had resulted in a hung jury, primarily due to a judge’s instruction that the killing of combatants during a time of war did not constitute murder. But the instruction was left out of the second trial, and had hamstrung Leschi’s attorneys from introducing evidence that could have exonerated him. Several efforts were underway to petition for a pardon, and the case was on appeal.

“Such a good lad,” Demelza murmured, giving Seamus a firm pat on the neck. She rode in front of Ross, and despite the discomfort that came with riding tandem, he was grateful for the company. She craned her neck to glance up at him. “I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about, Ross,” she said confidently.

“Well, I understand where his concern comes from, sweetheart,” he offered. “He’s a newborn to protect, remember that.”

“Of course I do,” Demelza countered, shifting her weight and making Ross wince. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hip. “In any event, we’ve  _ all _ got young children to worry over.”

He nodded at the truth of her statement. He’d been kept up a time or two with concern over their lads. “But what about Helen?” Ross wondered.

Demelza settled back against his chest, a self-satisfied grin curving her cheek. “My Helen is much stronger than anyone gives her credit for, Ross.”

They arrived at the creek moments later. The bridge – the first thing he and the fellows had constructed within days of their first visit – managed the horses and carts that clattered and rumbled across it with ease. It had to be strong to support the sledges of wood they harvested from the land. Ross eased Seamus and Demelza over to the MacGowan’s wagon, where Richard and Helen sat, wide-eyed and trembling with excitement. “Here’s the start of the land I’d purchased for you. Right next to the road heading north towards Seattle.” He looked up at the thick forestation. “We’ve got a lot of trees to clear to make it ready to build on here, but they thin out more as we move upstream.” He put an end to his rambling. “What do you think?”

Richard rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s bonny, Ross,” he admitted. “So green, so plentiful.”

“Good, good.” Ross smiled, feeling a bit more hopeful.

“Helen, how about you?” Demelza asked.

“I thought we’d seen more trees than we ever would when we were travelling through the Oregon Territory. Helen’s expressive eyes were round with amazement. “The forest feels so endless here.”

“In truth, Ross, I don’t understand how we will clear all of this in time to build a cabin,” Richard stated. 

Ross met his friend’s eyes. “Can I ask you to trust me, just until we get to the valley?” he said. “Twenty more minutes and we’ll be there.”

Richard was silent for what felt like a lifetime. “Lead on,” he said, gesturing with his hand. Ross turned Seamus towards the path.

The wagon required they slow the usual pace they were able to make on horseback. Ross pointed out the work they’d managed to complete in the two weeks since he’d purchased the acreage: building not one, but two bridges across the creek, the removal of nearly an acre of timber, not to mention the oyster shell along their rudimentary road, to speed the sledges’ journey towards the mill. He’d been bone tired every night, but it had been worth it to see the progress they made with each passing day.

They reached the valley a quarter of an hour behind schedule.  _ “An ainm an àigh!” _ Ross had no idea what Richard had said, but he too the strangled curse as a good sign when his face split into a grin. “'Tis a miracle! An absolute, bloody miracle!” The big Scot leapt from the wagon, reaching for the baby.

“Let me take her, Richard,” Demelza offered as Ross handed her down from Seamus. “You see to Helen before she tries to jump down herself!” Ross grinned when Demelza cuddled the baby close. A natural mother she was, and he hoped they would have news of their own growing family to share soon.

Richard swung Helen from the bench seat and swept her into a hug. Her tinkling laughter was a delight. “So, I take it you like what you see?” Ross asked with a smirk.

“Of course I do, mate,” Richard quipped.

“Aye, Ross,” Helen sighed. “'Tis beautiful. And I see it has taken the boys very little time to begin their frolicking!” The boys had scrambled from the back of the wagon the minute they’d come to a halt and were racing around a field of wildflowers. To the east, a team of men worked the large rectangle of river stone surrounding the area they’d chosen for the cabin. Her eyes widened at the tall man who’d left the group to stride over towards the wagon. “Joshua!”

Joshua Robinson’s handsome face beamed with happiness. “Miss Helen! It’s so good to see you again!” Richard hurried over to give his friend a back pounding hug. “Mr Ri—”

“—No, no, Joshua,” Richard interrupted, giving his friend a back pounding hug. “'Tis Richard and Helen now, as agreed, aye?” The Freedman nodded.

“Joshua is the foreman of our crew here,” Ross said, pride filling his chest whenever he thought of Robinson’s role. “We have three men here most days, another two from the mill on Saturdays. I’ve been able to convince Dwight to lend a hand on Sundays, mainly because of Demelza’s fine cooking skills.”

The doctor snorted with laughter. “Wouldn’t you?”

Richard looked confused. “The Hendersons head down to Black Lake to visit her family for Sunday church services.” Ross circled his arm around Demelza’s waist. “They’ve let her have the run of the kitchen for the day.”

“It took me a while to reacquaint myself with an actual stove and oven after so long on the trail,” Demelza teased before turning to look at Helen, who nearly bounced on her toes with happiness. “I’ll be happy for the company!”

Ross clapped Richard on the shoulder. “Let me show you around while our ladies assemble the picnic, and we’ll share the master plan with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what could the plan be? You'll find out soon! Thank you to everyone who has stuck by this little saga -- I really appreciate it!


End file.
